Outlander: The Secret of Glen Coe
by martykate
Summary: Irina is an archaeologist who has come on a vacation to Scotland, to study the Neolithic monuments outside the town of Inverness. She has a strange dream the night before she visits the site, a vision of stones, mist, darkness, the sound of voices. Will the spell of the stones change her life? O/C driven, characters from book make appearance, but original story intertwines
1. The Standing Stone

This story was conceived, oh, years ago when I first read "Outlander." I never wrote it down, I think, or if I did, I didn't save it. Some of the elements are different, I am sure.

I wanted a story that wasn't Jamie-centric. My original story didn't have him in it at all, but I want to have Diana Gabaldon's characters make their appearance in the story, showing up as essential elements. Hope you enjoy, this is a bit different, but it really is for "Outlander", trust me.

I have both my boys now. Geordie is not so tall as Angus, but he's a strong, sturdy little boy, none the less. Angus is as fair as Geordie is dark, he'll be tall, no doubt by fifteen he'll tower over me, while Geordie won't understand why he can't catch up, because he is older after all.

And to think I was willing to give Angus up. Never again, he's mine and he'll stay with me. I'll do my best to keep him from seeing his father, but one day he'll be asking question. For right now, as far as all of us are concerned, Mac is his father.

And it's thanks to Jamie Fraser that we are alive at all—and I found Douglas McDonald.

And the little one I'm carrying, he'll, and I'm convinced "he" is a boy, will look like Mac. He'll have his father's brown hair and brown eyes of, his height and his build. This is the first child that will not carry the spectre of a tragedy like my other two. This little one will be born into happiness, no tragedy, no sorrow, will shadows his birth. And I have the promise of His Majesty's government that the land where we dwell will be ours in perpetuity, even if we have to pledge allegiance to the king. It's a small price to pay.

Ah, who am I? A good question. I am Irina Bogdashevskaya Campbell MacDonald, wife to Douglas MacDonald, the man who helped me stand up to Colin Campbell and saved my life. Before that I was Colin Campbell's captive, who murdered my husband for his title—and me. And before that I was the wife of George Arthur Allen Davison Campbell. My Georgie, my sweet loving boy, my love, my heart, lost all too soon, murdered by the cousin he loved and trusted.

And before that? Well, now it starts to sound like an "Outlander" plagiarism, but it's not, it's real. Russians believe in all sorts of crazy stuff, and they are the only ones who know that it's true. I didn't believe that you could bend time, find yourself in one place then suddenly another. My father would say that it was the fairies, and who knows? Maybe he'd be right, but something that I don't understand happened to me, and it's still happening, but now it's my life.

I was an Egyptologist who taught at the University of Chicago. Of course I considered my area the most interesting and fertile in the ancient history field, but I try to be open minded. I've helped excavate in South America, and in Europe. Ancient Britain was not civilized like Rome or Egypt, but there's a lot to see and explore.

I'd come on a trip to Scotland to visit some friends of my recently-deceased mother, to fulfill a promise I'd made to her. I'm this crazy mixture of Russian and Belgian, tall like my mother, blond with weird grey-green eyes like my father. Wolf's eyes he called them. I'm broad hipped like a good babushka, but it's in proportion to everything else. I also have a broad Slavic face and high cheekbones. I guess you could say I'm good looking but I don't pay attention to it.

Okay, that's not true, I'm beautiful and I know it, but it doesn't do me any credit. To be beautiful is a curse, to not be beautiful is a curse. I'd rather look the way I do than not, but I'd like to be free of the baggage it carries. Sure, we may reap some benefits that our less fortunate sisters do not, but we pay for it. I haven't much good to say about my alcoholic, abusive father, but he helped me put things in perspective. My sisters and I are all equally lovely, but we are kind, humble, and unselfish. Beauty is no more than an accident of genetics, but the world can be unkind.

Since I was going to visit Scotland, I decided to drive around England first, and visit as many Neolithic monuments like Stonehenge that I could. Included in this were trips to old castles and Roman baths, camps, and of course, Hadrian's Wall. When I'd finished gorging myself on ancient history, I headed up to Scotland, to Inverness, which really is a lovely town—my cousins recommended that I stop there on the way.

I rented a room in a bed and breakfast run by an old Scottish woman who spoke with a burr so thick that often I could not understand her. The beds were excellent, though, and the food very good though not what an American like me is used to. The old hag, as I unkindly refer to her, would pack me a huge lunch every day, and send me out with a thermos of tea as I went sightseeing. Despite the fact that she looked like an old crone, she was very sweet, fretted about how thin I was—which I'm not, and kept mentioning various sons and nephews and neighborhood boys that she wanted to introduce me to.

She did manage one, Malcolm MacDonald, tall, brown haired, brown eyes, and very good looking I must confess. He was also very sweet, referred to my hostess as Mrs. Struan, and fascinated me with his knowledge of the history of the area. I'd sworn off men after my breakup with Robbie, I was in no mood to plunge into another disastrous relationship. Mac, as he called himself, seemed to sense this, but I also got the feeling he wasn't going to be deterred. I rather liked the feeling I was being pursued by a tall, handsome stranger.

"Mac" was turning into a frequent guest for dinner, I did not yet know if I minded. Mrs. Struan would delicately suggest that we might want to adjourn to the parlor and have a drink or two to help us digest our food. I would ask him about any menhir or dolmen around that were within walking distance. I told him about my interest in ancient history. I'd already visited Stonehenge and Hadrian's Wall before I'd come here. I'd planned to visit the Orkneys before I headed back to England. I must admit, I'd been prepared to be bored and uninterested in Scotland, but it was proving fascinating and I wished I'd allowed myself more time for my trip.

It turned out there was an interesting dolmen, and even a menhir within walking distance. Being a gentleman, Malcolm offered to take me, but I wanted to experience this on my own. My theory is that unless you need to have questions answered at that moment, it's best to see something you really want to see alone. I want to be alone, to take it in, to explore it on my terms, without someone hovering over me, thinking that they know what I want. And not everyone shares my interest in ancient monuments.

So I very politely turned him down and got very detailed directions instead. I'd have Mrs. Struan pack a lunch for me, and bring the cameras I carry when I take pictures. People generally stare when they see me take snapshots with one camera, then go in for detailed photos with another. If they think I'm crazy, it works to my advantage—they leave me alone. That's another reason why I don't want Malcolm with me, he'd get bored waiting for me to finish, and maybe try to hurry me to convince me to return to Mrs. Struan's.

I made polite goodnights to Malcolm and Mrs. S. I hadn't had much time to explore the area around Stonehenge, but tomorrow I would get to see some of what I'd missed. I looked at the map Malcolm had drawn for me. Trust a fellow archaeologist to include everything available to see in the area. Kent Weeks would be impressed, and he only mapped the Valley of the Kings.

It looks like the dolmen once was the entrance to a tomb mound. The menhir is some distance off. Malcolm's drawn a sketch of the menhir, and it resembles one of the stones of Stenness, as opposed to the rectangular shape of the outer stone circle at Stone Henge. I examine the map more closely and discover another tomb, with the lintels missing, but some of the structure is intact. I hope I'm going to find more, maybe a cyst grave, maybe even remains of a circle, or perhaps post holes of a "wood henge."

I didn't sleep as much as I should have, considering how much walking I would do, Mac had told me that the menhir and dolmen had only been briefly explored and recorded. Amateur archaeologists discover things all the time. I was trained, and had the basic equipment for measuring, if someone had been there with me, I could have set up a plumb line and taken measurements. It didn't matter what I did or didn't find, I would probably be alone, have the whole site to myself. I was as excited as I used to be when I went to bed on Christmas Eve—and slept about as well.

Towards the morning I started having strange dreams. The air had become filled with a mist, as if in a fairy tale. I heard the sound of hoofbeats, and saw the shadowy figures of men on horseback. I heard voices speaking English, but I couldn't understand the words. All I knew was that I did not want them to discover me, because if they did, my golden day would be spoiled, and I'd never have the chance to explore the site again.

And then, one of them got off his horse and started walking towards me. I wanted to run, but it was as if the earth had swallowed my feet, and I couldn't move, I was trapped, and all I could was to wait helplessly as he began to approach me.

I woke up to the dim light of the early dawn. I pulled on my wool robe and checked my backpack one more time to see if there was something I missed. Satisfied that I could survive for a week if I could only add food to the contents, I took a quick shower, then went to the dining room to eat breakfast.

The Blessed Mrs. Struan had fixed me a large plate of eggs, with kippers, which I can't stand. I settled for the eggs and bannocks, washed down with her strong tea. My hostess had even come up with some orange juice, which, by its taste must have come from a can, but I was grateful for it all the same. I had a long day ahead of me, and except for the kippers, I was going to put whatever nutrition in my body that I could get hands on.

She presented me with a fat lunch bag, and a thermos full of tea, reminding me that I should be back for supper, as Mr. Malcolm would surely be present, and wouldn't I like a ride to the path that led to the standing stones.

I smiled, shook my head and thanked her. I went back to my room and placed my bundle into my overstuffed backpack. Fortunately, as I consumed food and tea the weight would lesson somewhat. I put on my fleece lined denim jacket and wrapped my new red scarf around my neck—the morning was cold but the day might warm up a little, later. I hoisted my pack onto my shoulders and went quietly out the door to prevent someone from offering me a ride. I felt like walking in solitary bliss this morning.

My bliss did not last long. An elderly couple pulled up next to me as I walked along the road, and rolling down their window, inquired as to whether or not I needed a ride. It was only a couple of miles to the turnoff, but I gave in graciously and answered questions as patiently as I could.

I was from Chicago. I was an archaeologist by profession. No, I wasn't married, nor was I engaged. (I don't know why this people always ask this question) Yes, I liked being an archeologist. I worked mainly in Egypt, but was on vacation and exploring Neolithic stone monuments while I was here. I was staying at "The Thistle", yes Mrs. Struan set an excellent table. Oh, my name? I'm half Russian and half Belgian, but I was raised in Seattle. They let me off at the turn off, wishing me a lovely time. I wished the same to them and watched them drive away.

The path bore few marks from the most recent excavation. It must have been wide enough for a narrow vehicle once, and I tried to remember how long it was, but I didn't really care. I was getting that crazy high that I always got on the way to an excavation. The hair was prickling on the back of my neck and I could feel the electricity on the surface of my skin.

Something was going to happen.

The path was taking me slowly uphill. Nothing I saw around me hinted at my being a couple of miles away from an important archaeological site. The path looked as if it had not been disturbed for years, no trace remained that a four wheeled vehicle had once been here. The path was no bigger than a footpath, the evergreen trees were tall and had not been cut in centuries, it seemed. The air was fragrant and clean, and had an almost unearthly stillness. Not even the sound of birds pervaded the stillness, and I felt like the first line of "Evangeline" by Longfellow:

"This is the forest primeval"

At last I passed through a small stand of trees and set foot into the clearing, and what I saw took my breath away. The first thing that caught my eye was the menhir, it was taller than I had imagined it, standing at least 16 feet high. It looked like it had been sheared off at an angle at the top, while it was cut straight at the sides, and did not owe its shape to nature's whim or the weather.

I looked more closely at its surface, trying to see if it was smoothed on one side, while left rough on the other like the Sarcen stones at Stone Henge. I was too superstitious, no, too respectful to touch it, but to my delight I found that one side had carvings of spirals on it, not the first time I'd seen this on stones and monuments in both Britain and France.

I pulled out my Nikon and began to take pictures. When I had some shots that I was happy with, I started wandering, trying to determine what might have been here originally. A Menhir is a standing stone, or group of stones, like Stonehenge, while a dolmen is a doorway, usually consisting of two vertical stones with a stone across them. These were the doorways of tombs, and a few mounds and barrows have remained, though most of them are gone, leaving only the lintels, or the dolmen. It's exciting if any of the tomb is left, and here I got lucky because there was a noticeable dip in the ground and I could make out a shape.

I took pictures, kept the best and deleted the others, and then I began to walk around. It was an odd place for the dolmen and menhir, usually (though not always) these things were located on a relatively flat plain, probably so they'd be visible for miles. But the size of the dolmen was impressive, and I'm sure that whoever had been buried there had been important. The tomb itself had obviously been looted, but I wonder if anyone ever came up here and had a look around. Malcolm had been knowledgeable, but decidedly uncurious. He'd made no effort to warn me away, not even any warning looks, so I wondered if he just considered it unimportant.

On a whim, I decided to have a closer look, I don't know what I was hoping to find, maybe some more holes where more stones had stood, or maybe something else. There was an energy here that was spurring me on, and the day was young, and I had plenty of time to look around. But for what?

This place was at least four thousand years old, maybe more, and the geology could have been changed considerably in that time. Cleopatra's palace complex and the lighthouse at Alexandria had been struck down by earthquakes. Maybe this hill was once flatter than it is now and an earthquake had changed the landscape so drastically that the hill had been raised up. I'd forgotten a lot of my geology, so I couldn't remember if such a thing could be possible. I know they did have earthquakes in the British Isles, but they were not as frequent as they would have been, say, in Seattle. I'd have to find a library, or preferably, a seismologist to find out if it was possible.

While I was busy meditating on the possibility of earthquakes in the British Isles, my foot suddenly sank in some soft leaves and I tripped. I ran through most of my profanity vocabulary from "a" to "s", then pulled my foot out of the depression it had become trapped in.

Something was curious about this. I carefully began to pull leaves and debris from the hole. Soon hole was deeper than the length of my arm and I still had not reached the bottom. I cleared as much as I could, and noticed that the size was regular and smooth, as if it had once held something—but I did not know what.

"Discovery Fever", as I call it, was taking hold of me. I began to look around for possible postholes, and discovered another two. My excitement grew, there was evidence here of a wooden circle, just like at Stone Henge, that had rotted centuries ago, but no doubt pre-dated the standing stones. I carefully cleared the holes and took pictures. I could not wait to get back to my computer and start recording my findings for the day. If I looked more closely I might find the site of more post holes, or possibly where stones had stood—or even a buried stone.

I looked up at the sun, then down at my watch. Noon! I had lost all track of time. I could spend hours here, and still have more to find, but right now I was feeling suddenly hungry. I went to the menhir and sat at its foot, well away from its shadow. I took my camera and took pictures of each of the little carved spirals, wishing, as so many others, that whoever erected these circles had had some kind of written language. We know so little and so much of what we know is educated guess work.

I devoured my lunch, as opposed to eating it. Rationally I knew that I should be tired, but there was an energy level here, almost a hum, like machinery running, that fed into me and I could not remain still. I searched for more post holes, and found two possibilities, and looked carefully at the grass to see if there were a difference anywhere in color that might indicate where a stone might have stood.

I turned back to the dolmen, and looking around could see where a body might have been placed. The pit where the barrow may have been had smooth sides, and much care had been put into its preparation.

I don't know how much time had passed, but when I looked again at my watch it said three o'clock. How did so much time pass by? I could easily have prolonged my trip here by a week and contemplated the possibility. I'd taken this quarter off to do some traveling, and if I brought back enough notes and images, I might be able to persuade someone to give me a month to dig here. It probably wouldn't be that hard to convince local officials. I had no intention of destroying the site, but clearing the postholes, looking for evidence of more stones, and excavating the tomb under the dolmen would only benefit the village, not harm it.

In the meantime, I had better get ready to leave. Darkness was not falling so terribly early, not yet, but this was an area I didn't know, and it would be best to hike back in full daylight. Once I got to the main road I would surely find myself sufficiently tired enough to graciously accept an offer of a ride back to the bed and breakfast.

I walked over to the menhir to check my pack and make sure I'd left nothing behind—something I'm notorious for. I looked at it again, the smoothed surface decorated with the spirals, and reached out my hand to touch one, but pulled my finger back at the last minute.

I was feeling suddenly very sleepy. "Okay, just a short one," I promised myself and stretched out before the stone, my backpack providing a lumpy pillow for my head. I had no intentions of sleep, only to rest a minute before I began the long hike back to the road. The very long hike back to the road I mused.

I swear, I really didn't think I'd fall asleep, I don't nap, as a rule, but I woke up suddenly realizing that I had been asleep. I looked at my watch, it read three o'clock. Now that couldn't be, there was a new battery in it and it had read three o'clock the last time I looked at it. I looked around, nothing really looked different. The clearing and its dolmen and menhir had a creepy feeling to it, but that's true of a lot of ancient sites—you can feel that you are the intruder; that something was there before you that belongs to it, not you. Maybe the battery was faulty.

Suddenly a mist started to descend while the sky grew curiously darker. Like in my dream, the mist slowly grew thicker as the air darkened. From a distance, I heard coming the sound of muffled hoofbeats and the jingling of bridles. Horses whickered and men were talking, speaking a language I knew but could not understand the worlds.

I ducked behind the stone, and prayed they would not see me.


	2. The Campbells

Chapter 2: In the Thick of Things

My mind was spinning so hard I was almost dizzy. I was trying to breathe as quietly as I could, despite the fact that with the noise of the horses and voices I would not be heard. I wanted to turn and look, see just who was there, but knew I dared not. For better or for worse, I was trapped.

Let's see, what did I know? Well, it was highly unlikely that I would have company here, even less likely that a group of horsemen would descend upon this place. I had this sick feeling in my stomach. That if daylight were to descend and I could take a good look at my surrounds, I would find them drastically changed. How did I know that? I didn't.

But what had happened to my watch? If I could pull out my phone and try to turn it on, what would I find? Blame it on my Russian, as my father used to say, but I know that I know that I know that something has happened. Maybe the stones had taken me, maybe there was a power up here that kept people away, and maybe I had paid the price for my curiosity. And all I could do was sit and listen to the men and their horses that seemed to be paying this place not much attention at all.

My back hurt. I was tired, I was hungry, and I wanted to go back to the inn. I wanted to pull the flask out of my pack and drain it dry, but dared not. I needed to be ready to run at a moment's notice, but where I'd run to? I had no idea.

I learned back against the stone and listened, instead. There seemed to be two English voices, the others Scottish. There were not a lot of people as far as I could tell. To my dismay it seemed that they were getting ready to spend the night. I could hear wood chopping, and that meant they'd probably be building a fire. How dare they? This place was sacred, it had stood for thousands of years, how dare they desecrate it by treating it as no more than a hunting camp.

Like in my dream, I heard footsteps coming towards me. I'd stayed here long enough, it was time to get away—somehow. Maybe to the other side of the clearing. I prayed there would maybe be a tomb and I could duck down in it and hide until they fell asleep. All I could hope for would be that they did not keep sentries and that the horses would not betray me.

As I watched him pass by me, I could see he was dressed in a hunting kilt, which I recognized from a tartan book I had skimmed. Which clan, I could not tell. A few men wore kilts around here, but it was mostly for special occasions. "It's a coincidence, Irina," I told myself, "Just like your watch, your phone probably doesn't work, either, maybe it's due to magnetics or something like that. Just be calm, if you don't be calm, you'll never get away." But to where, a part of me wondered.

My eyes followed him, guessing that he had received the call of nature and was answering. I hope he had the sense not to desecrate anything, but knowing only where I was, not when, I had no idea what he was up to. At least he hadn't seen me.

But someone had, he dropped down in front of me and put his hand over my mouth before I was even aware of him. "Shh, lass," he said in tones so soft I barely hear, "I'm here to help ye." His hair shone silver in the moonlight, but his face was in shadows. "Do you want to be getting out of here?" He didn't remove his hand from my mouth, but he was gentle, and I was not afraid.

I couldn't tell who he was, he was tall, so tall I was surprised that he could conceal himself when the stranger returned to join his camp. I looked at him and nodded my head, letting him know that yes, I did trust him. I was going on my instincts, and prayed they would not betray me. "We've got to move now," he said, "I don't know the best way to go because they've got the entrance blocked. It looks like they may be here for the night, so if you're patient, we may get away when they fall asleep." He took my hand and pulled me up, leading me deeper into the shadows and away from the light of the moon.

"Who are they?" I whispered, aware of how the sound carried eerily here. "What are they doing here? Don't people leave this place alone?" I knew how superstitious Scots tended to be, but that was no less true of Russians, or anyone who had any kind of belief in a spirit world. My Russian grandmother used to take me on her lap and tell me stories of Russian princes and princesses, and Baba Yaga flying through the air in her magic caldron. My Belgian _grandmere_ told me elegant stories of princes on horseback riding into dark forests to find captive princesses and magical kingdoms.

"I am somewhat surprised to find them here, but it's a good place to be if you don't want to be found. They started out as just a hunting party until they stumbled on me, now their prey has changed somewhat. Damn those traitorous Campbells to hell, though I must have become too complacent for them to find me so easily."

"And you're a Jacobite, and that's why they pursued you? What year is this anyway?" I tried to keep my voice down, but I was becoming panicky, and excited.

"That's a strange question, lass, but it's 1744, if you dinna already know." He looked me over carefully, "Those are strange garments for a woman to be wearing, especially one who looks like you."

_At least you didn't use the "b" word, I thought. _"There's more to me than meets the eye, I promise," I answered, "I'm warm, well, fairly warm, and I'm wearing clothes that offer me a lot more freedom and protection than women's clothes would. And I hope we can get away from here, soon, I grow more nervous by the minute."

"Well, I'd have something for that, but my flask is empty."

"Mine's not, and I've been waiting for a chance to get to it." I slid down, carefully, on the ground, and began to search through my pack as quietly as I could until I found the flask. It was too bad that I had consumed all my food, but at least I had my whisky. I uncorked it and took a good, long drink, then handed it to him. Not the best scotch, but it wasn't bad.

He held up the flask to salute me, drank deeply, then handed it back. I drank as deeply as he, and he smiled, impressive for a girl his look said.

He took hold of my hand and led me more deeply into the trees. He slid down a gentle slope and I realized he'd found a tomb that had lost its barrow so long ago that time had forgotten when. We huddled down at the bottom, using each other for warmth and slept fitfully until just the first rays of sun started showing in the East.

"Come on lass," he said, we need to put as many miles as we can between them and us before sunrise. I smiled and shook my head.

"I appreciate your offer of help, but you need to get going. I bet you need someone who can provide a diversion so you'll be the last thing on their mind. They're obviously looking for you, but they're not looking for me. I'm going to let them find me so you can get away."

"D'ye ken what you're doing, lass? These are dangerous men." He scratched his head, clearly not knowing what to think.

"Listen," I told him, "you may not realize it, but I can take care of myself. I have tricks up my sleeve that you have no way of knowing about. My father was a Russian fisherman, he was tough. He taught his kids to be tough, to never be afraid. I'm walking into this with eyes wide open, and I don't need anyone to defend me. No matter the outcome, it will be all right. They're hunting for a Jacobite, not a woman who has no loyalties either way. How can they know if I've seen you? I was scared and I spent the night in one of the tombs. They didn't see me because they weren't looking for me, it's as simple as that. Now you better get going while the going is good."

He threw back his head and laughed. In the growing light of the down I could see that he had a mop of curly red hair and beautiful cornflower blue eyes. "If that's the way ye want it, then who am I to argue. If you ever need the help of Jamie Fraser, I owe you a debt."

"I'm Irina Bogdashevkaya, pleased to meet you. Thank you, Jamie, I won't forget this. Russians don't forget a debt. Now please go, I'm going to have to present myself to your Campbells and sell them a story."

"Now that's a name I won't forget," he smiled. He bowed his head briefly, waved, and then took off. Now yon was a man, I could hear Mrs. Struan say, not that Mac was any less of one.

I wondered what he was doing, but the Rebellion was going on and there were undoubtedly spies from both sides roaming Scotland. I wish I had a way of letting the losers know their fate, so they could take steps to avoid it, but I'm not so much of a fool to think that I could change history. History and the excavating of it was my business, after all.

Suddenly I bowed my head, caught up in the realization I was nowhere near the village, or the Scotland that I knew. Maybe if I could make it back to the menhir-but I could hear the sound of men waking up and with the sky beginning to lighten the way it was, someone was sure to see me.

I began to pick my way quietly through the woods. I didn't want to be seen, I planned to wait in the woods until the Campbell party had left. I wondered about the mysterious Jamie Fraser. Who was he and what had he been doing? I hadn't researched the history of Scotland much, so I really had no idea where the different clan territories would have been. I knew enough to know that it was basically Jacobite versus the Crown loyal clans, and I had picked up enough to know that the Campbells had been known as the worst of traitors to their countrymen.

Snap! A boot stepped on a twig, I knew that without even having to look. I held still, held my breath, my denim jacket wasn't too obvious, but the bright red scarf that I'd found in the tartan shop, and the silver pin I'd bought to hold it, would have stood out like a flag. All I could do was stand and breathe as quietly as I could. With any luck, if he wasn't looking for me, he wouldn't find me. "Please god," I breathed, "Let him be alone. Let him just be taking a leak. Let him go back to his friends and let me get out of here."

But to where? I asked myself. Somehow I'd tripped a wire in time and I knew with sinking heart that the cozy little inn that Mrs. Struan ran would not be in the village—if the village was even there. I was caught up in the spell of the fairy stones, and only with the help of the stones, of the giant menhir's whose shadow I must have slept in, did I stand any chance of returning home.

I love fairy tales. I love the stories that my father—damn him—and my babushka used to tell me. I've read mythology from all sorts of cultures, I love the stories of the Mabinogion—Rhiannon, Math, Pwyll, Gwydion. I love the elegant French fairy tales my mother told me, but I loved to hear them sitting by a fire or in a big overstuffed chair where I am firmly rooted on the ground and safe. No one has ever told me how I get out of one if I accidentally fall into it, and if the Campbells didn't move their collective arses soon I was going to be stuck spending the night in the wood, or even worse, captured.

I stayed as still as I could. Maybe he wouldn't notice me, if he did, I was in trouble. It would be obvious that I was not from around here, I was not from anywhere they were familiar. If they asked me about Jamie Fraser I would play as dumb as I could. If I was caught I would be cooperative, but deceptive. Like I heard someone say on an "X-Files" episode, a lie is most conveniently hidden between two truths.

He was almost past me. Don't look, don't look, I thought, just keep going. I'm not here, I'm a figment of your imagination, a dream. I don't belong to this time, I am an accidental tourist.

Almost past, almost past…but I was not fated to be that lucky. By chance he turned and saw me, then tried to grab my arm. And found himself sitting on the ground for his trouble.

He looked at me and shook his head, "How did ye do that, lass?"

"Some people are more than they seem." I liked the way that sounded and he looked puzzled. I looked around and saw one of his friends coming to join him. The other stopped, saw his friend on the ground, looked at me, then back at him.

"What the hell did she do to ye, Gordon?"

"She didn't do anything, ma feet slipped out from under me. Now, will ye give me a hand and help me up?" Well, I can understand why he wouldn't want to admit he was there because of me. He had feet big enough that tripping could have been a problem all on his own. I wisely kept my mouth shut.

"We need to take her to Georgie and Colin, Abner. She's here where she clearly don't belong. They can decide what to do with her. Come along, lass, and there'll be no trouble."

I followed without complaint. I promised Jamie that I'd keep the attention on me and away from him and I intended to make good on that promise. The poor Jacobites, so many would be killed in the battle of Culloden, and so many more pursed to their deaths. The Scots felt so passionately for their Bonnie Prince Charlie, they love a lost cause. Even worse, they'll fight among themselves over it.

I think Abner and Gordon were surprised at how well I kept up with them. It was nearly a quarter of a mile to the Campbell camp, and when we got there I was surprised at the number of men that comprised the hunting party. My original guess had been about ten, it was closer to twenty or more. Most of the men rode good horses, English horses, not the traditional ponies the Scots tended to favor. I could smell cooking, too, and it reminded me that I had not eaten since the night before. I was sure to be made a captive, so I hoped that my captors would treat me kindly and feed me.

Six men were seated together before a fire. Four were older, older than me, maybe thirty five or more, but one of them, a good looking young man, was twenty at the oldest. The one sitting next to him had white blond hair and deep set grey eyes, he was attractive, but not nearly so as his friend. The two of them, plus one of the older men, wore hunting kilts, while the others dressed in English garments clearly meant for outdoor sports. Too bad the sport they pursued was human, a young Jacobite as prey.

"Sir," Gordon addressed the youngest one, "We found her in the woods, near where we were tracking the Jacobite. There's no sign of the Jacobite, but we found her skulking about in the woods."

"I was not skulking," this was my cue to speak up. I looked at the young one, the one he addressed as "sir" and could have lost my heart there and then. Beautiful brown eyes with the long lashes some men are blessed with and women covet. He looked like he might not be as tall as his blond friend, but even with the kilt I could tell he had broad shoulders and a slender waist. And yes, I could lie to him without problem, but were it between the sheets, well, the truth might spill out of my mouth despite my best intentions.

"Well, what were you doing, lass?" His voice was more Jackson Brown than Antonio Banderas, but it tickled my ear all the same. I'm thirty, but I like younger men, and I was trying to keep myself from thinking of all the things I'd like to do to and with him.

"I'm an arch—I study antiquities. I'm trying to study and measure as many Neolithic stone monuments before they're destroyed. People seem to be fond of knocking the stones down, or stealing them. I hope to leave what I find out for posterity, so people can learn how these places used to look."

"And who might ye be doing this for?" A bit of Scots was slipping through, so far he'd spoken more formally.

"I'm doing this for me, me and no one else." I looked at him defiantly, "Are you one of those men who think women can't do things for themselves? I can take care of myself, and do it very well, with no one's help."

"She's feisty, Georgie," his blond friend said, "I don't think she knows about the Jacobite, she "probably didn't realize she was trespassing on Campbell land."

"This wasn't Campbell land before, though you think you own Scotland, don't you? I don't care about Jacobites, or the British, or Campbells, all I'm interested in is Neolithic stone monuments. It's not as sophisticated as Hadrian's Wall, I know, but it's a lot older and that makes it interesting to me." Sometimes I talk too much, but the two of them seemed to find me amusing, so much the better.

"Why don't we take her with us?" one of the Brits spoke up. "We're not going to find him, let's head back."

"I agree, cousin, I'm all for sleeping in my bed," Colin spoke up, "We can take her with us. I'd like to see what she looks like in decent clothes. You're a pretty thing, my dear," he said, addressing me, "What is your name by the way?"

"Irina Victoria Bogdashevskaya," I made a mock bow. I emphasized the consonants with a good imitation of my father's Russian accent. I love the sound of Russian, I always have. I'm so glad that my father made us learn Russian. I am fluent in Russian, French, and English, and if I ever have children, they're going to learn Russian, too.

"That's Russian. How do you come to live here?" One of the Englishmen was looking at me suspiciously, but I was prepared.

"My father was a Russian fisherman who came to Belgium to try to make a better life for himself. My mother was the daughter of a wool merchant, and they fell in love and married. My father went to work for his father-in-law and did quite well for himself. My parents are both dead now, and left me enough money to pursue my passion for antiquities." (It was hard to use that word, the term archaeology wasn't really in vogue then, but the rich loved their ancient treasures, so that's what I'd pretend to be, an antiquarian who dug and sold my discoveries to the rich)

Suddenly, most embarrassingly, the world started to grow fuzzy and I became unbearably lightheaded. Just before I fainted I could hear myself say, "I think I need to eat something." Then the world grew black and I knew no more.


	3. The Captain and the Moonlight

When I came to, I found myself lying on the ground, propped against a saddle. I pushed myself up slowly, not sure if the dizziness would return. I breathed a sigh of relief when it appeared the spell was over.

This hadn't happened in a really long time. The doctors had never been sure of what caused it. They'd guessed blood sugar, and suggested I watch my diet, but even then they didn't really know. This hadn't happened to me in five years, and the last thing I'd wanted to happen was to faint in front of the skeptical Scotsman.

I looked up and saw the skeptical Scot in question standing in front of me. "I brought you some food," he said, "it's not fancy but it's all we have." He paused for a moment, "Are you all right?"

He seemed genuinely concerned, and it puzzled me. "Yes, I'm just very embarrassed. I'm not of a fainting disposition. Maybe it was stress, fear, I don't know. Maybe I just needed food." I began to eat—a piece of ham, some cheese, and the mug of small ale that he'd offered. "And maybe it's because you scare me."

"Oh, I don't think I'm anything for you to be afraid of," he said, and I thought, that's what you think. Up close Georgie was even better looking, and at thirty I considered myself too old for men, especially a twenty year old, to make me nervous—but he did.

"I just need to know who you are and what you're doing here. There's Jacobite spies on the loose, I've been chasing one of them. I take no chances where they are concerned."

I looked at him, debating what to say. "Do I look like a Jacobite spy, and are they really such a threat to you? You outnumber them and out gun them. If they're foolish enough to rise up against the English, they'll find themselves wiped out. Do I like the fact that England has absorbed Scotland and robbed them of their independence—no. I also don't believe in lost causes, and I hate to say it, but Scottish independence is a lost cause. The Jacobites would be better off learning to live with their situation, like the Britains did with the Romans."

He looked at me, "You really mean that, don't you? Be careful whose company you say that in. You might offend the wrong person and find yourself dead." The look of concern on his face was very sweet, but I also read the signs of lust—he'd clearly undress and have me right there if he could.

"Anyway, Colin has spoken for you. He doesn't believe you're a Jacobite spy. For myself, I don't know what I think. You seem sincere enough—you think the Jacobites are fools, which they are, even though you feel sorry for them. And you are an unco pretty girl, I'll grant you that."

I drained the last of my ale and handed him the mug. "Can I have some more of that, please? So it's my looks and Colin that are saving me? Would I be less lucky if I were ugly?"

"You're not getting off so easily, I'm bringing you back with us. I don't know if I can trust you, and I can keep a better eye on you at home. And besides, my Da will like to talk about antiquities with you. And if you think you can fool him, you can think again."

"So, just who is your father, and who are you for that matter?"

"My father is the laird of Clan Campbell. I'm his oldest son and heir. Colin is my cousin, his father is my father's brother. When I'm away from home, I'm my father's voice. I take my responsibilities very seriously. That's why I'm taking no chances with you. I don't know how much, if anything, you know, but I won't take the risk. More than one woman has used her pretty face to hide hidden intentions. There's something about you, though, you seem confused by where you are. And you don't act like a Scottish or an Englishwoman, you don't act like any woman I've ever seen—period." He paused before he went on, "And somehow you seem to need help, so I'll do what I can for you, as long as you don't betray me."

He laid his gloved hand on my cheek, "You better not be afraid of horses because we have a long ride ahead of us. You're riding pillion behind me and you best try no tricks."

I widened my eyes, my "wolf's eyes" at him. "I'm Russian, remember, I'm the descendent of Cossacks. I've been riding since I was big enough to sit up in the saddle." Take that, you cocky, arrogant, gorgeous Scotsman, I thought.

He laughed me, "We'll see about that. If I trusted you, I'd put you on a horse just to see if you can prove your words. As it is, we'll have to wait and see." He reached out his hand and pulled me up, "You shall have more ale when we stop for lunch."

He had a gorgeous horse. A big, tall bay with a white left hind hoof. He mounted up easily, obviously used to being in the saddle. He looked at me, then removed his boot from the left stirrup and held out his hand.

I took his hand and placed my foot in the stirrup. He pulled me up easily and I settled in behind his saddle. I put my arms around his waist, determined not to fall. He must have been a little surprised, no less than I when he patted my hands. I don't think either of us knew what that was about, but I loved the warmth of the horse, and the way it felt to hold onto—Georgie. I shut that thought out of my head before I could take it any further.

I wondered where the young, red headed Jacobite was. I hadn't lied to Georgie when I told him the Jacobites were holding onto a lost cause, and would lose many lives if they rose up in rebellion—they did. But I didn't tell him that I'd be willing to lend a hand if it were at no risk to myself, that I did sympathize with them. He probably wouldn't believe me if I told him that in 40 years the British would be out of the American colonies for good. I wished that I could say the same for Scotland. And why did I always want to stand up for the underdog, even if it meant I might get myself hurt?

We'd gotten underway, Georgie leading the column, Colin close behind him. The cousins were evidently close, one minute they were joking and laughing, the next the conversation would turn to serious matters. I realized now this had been no hunting party, but a search party. I don't think they cared who they were looking for, any Jacobite spy would do. As Georgie had hinted, they took it very seriously. If I had any part in helping Jamie escape, I was grateful, and it had nothing to do with how much I was beginning to like the two cousins.

It is one thing to know about an event in history, and to know its outcome, but it's another matter altogether to be in the middle of it. History, especially according to the Scots, paints the Campbells as traitors, villains even. I looked around at the men who rode with us, and I didn't see villains, I saw husbands, sons, brothers, cousins, and fathers. They believed just as passionately as did the Jacobites. They're loyal to the Crown and not ashamed of it. Maybe it's because the leader of the clan believes that the British are what Scotland needs. Who knows? I could betray no one to anyone, and crossed my fingers that I would not be asked to.

My Russian father is the penultimate horseman. In his eyes there are two kinds of people, those who ride and those who don't. Before I could even walk, he would put me into the saddle before him, and holding me tightly would take me for a long lovely ride. I have never, ever, gotten sore riding a horse.

That's why I experienced no discomfort riding behind Georgie. The warmth of the horse, Georgie's warmth, the smooth rocking gait of the horse made me feel relaxed, and soon after that, sleepy. Before I knew it, Georgie was slapping me playfully on the thigh, telling me to wake up or I'd fall.

To my embarrassment, I found that I had huddled against him like a child, my hold around his waist had tightened. I sat up, pulled away, and kept my grip around his waist only as firm as need be. He spurred his horse, as if to tease me, and we galloped a ways out ahead of the train. We rode up a small hillock, and he pulled his horse up and pointed out a large valley.

The view was breathtaking, the mountains against the sky, the little valley nestled at their foot. I could see the glimmer of a small lake reflecting the sun.

"That's where we're going, that's my home. I never get tired of this view." He patted my leg, "Wait until you see it close up, there's no prettier sight in the world."

He hadn't seen my home. No one would be living there for at least 150 years. The British had established Fort Vancouver, but the Americans had not yet claimed the Oregon Territory, they hadn't even fought the American Revolution. I suddenly grew very homesick.

"We'll be there in a few hours." He didn't seem to notice my silence, "You can have a bath and Mistress Simms will find you some clothes. She's practically raised me since my mother died. She runs the household, and all the rest of us." He turned his horse and we joined the rest of the party.

We did not speak for the rest of the ride. Sometimes his gloved hand would touch mine, as if to ask if I was all right. There was an easiness between us, I could not deny that. Maybe he had made up his mind that I was not a spy, maybe he saw the lovely face and blond hair." If you are beautiful, men covet you," my father always warned. "Don't let yourself be their prize." Now why are you thinking that, I asked myself, I was at least ten years older than him—he was twenty at most. I must be old in his eyes, and with a face like that, I'm sure that he had all the girls in the household at his beck and call.

We entered the valley between two tall peaks—the entrance would have been hard to find if you did not know where to look. We rode along beside the lake, and I could see a perfect reflection of clouds and blue sky in the water. Beautiful, yes, but not as beautiful as the alpine lakes in the Cascades. It was rougher here, somehow, more violent. Still the scenery took my breath away.

Once past the lake, the track we were riding on turned into a road. We rode perhaps a mile, and a large house came into view. It wasn't a castle, someone had modeled it after a French chateau. As we rode closer, I could see the light of mullioned colored glass windows. "La Mere," said Colin, startling me, he had just pulled up next to Georgie and me, "We call it 'La Mere' after the lake. It was a castle, a very old one that had fallen down, so my grandfather took the stones and added the stained glass to please his French wife. You should see the gardens she had built. Nothing was too good for her."

As we rode up to the great double doors, I could see that the inhabitants of the chateau had turned out for us. Georgie and Colin dismounted. Georgie tried to help me off the horse, but I ignored him and slid off. Two grooms came forward and took their horses, disappearing around the back of the chateau. Colin took my arms and led me into the house. "Don't worry," he whispered, "I'm sure father will love you and my Uncle George, too. We may be Campbells, but we're friendly and make our guests welcome. Georgie and I will take you hunting and fishing, and you can ride with us every morning. Or, you can ride with me, at least." He smiled, mischievously, and winked.

Mrs. Simms was almost as tall as I am, thin and held herself ramrod straight. She did not seem old enough to supervise the running of the household, but she was bustling and efficient. I watched as everyone did as she directed, proving that she, indeed, was the chatelaine of Chateau La Mere. With her jet black hair pulled tightly back, with her spotless apron and cap, she seemed a formidable figure, indeed.

As soon as Georgie and Colin introduced me to her, she waved them away and told them to go find their fathers. "I expect you'll be wanting a bath, Mistress, after all that time in the saddle. I'll get you soaking and find some clothes for you. Old Mrs. Campbell was tall like you, I may have one or two of her old gowns in the cupboard that you can wear. What I have wouldn't suit you miss…"

"Irina, please call me Irina. Mistress seems so formal."

"Well, Irina it will be then. I can remake a few of old Mrs. Campbell's dresses for you, her riding habit, too, if you care for such things." She looked at my Doc Martins and her tongue clicked in disapproval. "Well, unfortunately we big girls have big feet. There's no one whose shoes will fit you, but I'm sure the lairds will take care of that. Now follow me and we'll get you that bath. Old Mrs. Campbell believed in cleanliness, and she did love her baths."

She led me to a curious room. There was a fireplace set in the wall in which a fire had been stoked, providing heat for the room. I noticed a hole in the floor which must have been used to sluice away the water, indoor plumbing eighteenth century style. A wooden tub, lined with bath sheets sat in the center, and maids were started to fill the tub with hot and cold water. There were cupboards on the wall and suddenly I longed to strip off my clothes and sink into the steaming water.

I had barely enough time to bathe when Mrs. Simms came in, a blue-grey silk dress in her arms, along with various female accoutrements. I was amazed at the layers of clothing that women wore, not to mention the corset. She left off the curious pillow like thing that it seemed women wore around their waist to better hide the fact that I still wore my boots. And she procured for me a silver grey shawl to drape over my shoulders and provide extra warmth. The chateau was well built, but tended to be drafty.

She fussed over my hair as she brushed it, then braided it in one long braid down my back with blue and silver ribbons. When she handed me the mirror so I could see, I must admit I was pleased with the result.

Mrs. Simms walked me downstairs to where the cousins were waiting. I got appreciative looks from both, which I cannot say made me unhappy. "I knew you would look beautiful in a dress," breathed Colin, the remark taking me aback somehow. While I found nothing to dislike in him, somehow I couldn't quite like him in the way I felt I ought.

Georgie on the other hand just smiled, and offered me his arm. Colin took the other, and they led me into the hall and took me to meet their fathers. I didn't know what to expect. It was all happening too quickly. I felt like a new doll or toy being showed off, but I found myself put at ease by the elder Campbells.

"Father, Uncle this is Irina..." here he hesitated and I spoke up for him.

"Bogdashevskaya. A good Russian name, but our language sometimes seems unpronounceable—like Gaelic. I am fortunate because I have spoken it since childhood, and therefore it is no challenge for me."

Twins, I would not have guessed that their fathers were twins. I am sure that in their youth they had been the mirror of each other, but time had changed that, as it changes all of us.

George Adam Ronald Murat Campbell, the father of young Georgie, was thin, his face heavily lined, but he had his son's smile, and a twinkle in his brown eyes. He took my hand and kissed it, "You are very lovely, my dear, I am happy to welcome you to our home."

Adam Russell Gordon Murat Campbell was heavier than his brother, his face now broader. But each of them had Georgie's lovely brown eyes. He reminded me of a less dyspeptic Bach, only taller. He too, kissed my hand. "We are very lucky to have you gracing our home."

Yech. Now I know where Colin got it. But despite the overt flattery, they were two very lovely men. Were I attracted to older men, I would not mind a flirtation from either or both of them. I liked the elder Campbells very much, and hoped that I would have the opportunity to get to know them better.

A footman came through, ringing a bell to announce dinner. Adam Campbell took my hand firmly under his arm and led me into dinner. I was placed near the lairds—evidence to all that I was considered an honored guest. The boys seated themselves not far from me-this looked to be a most entertaining dinner.

One other guest was there, a British captain named Jonathan Randall. He looked to be about Colin's height—which I guessed was five-eleven. His long, dark hair was tied back with a black ribbon, and he was dressed impeccably in civilian clothes. His eyes were almost as dark as his hair, and he was handsome in a careless way, but I did not like him. Sometimes I can see auras, and his was dark, menacing. He was handsome, charming, took my hand and kissed it when we were introduced, but I was not convinced. Some people, if you are empathetic enough, just feel wrong, and the instant he touched my hand I wanted to jerk it away.

No, I did not like Jonathan Wolverton Randall, Esq. at all.

The meal was typically Scottish, an elaboration on what Mrs. Struan would serve, only there were several more meat dishes. A lot of laughter, often from one of the two brothers, or from one of the many guests that sat at the table.

The mood of the company was contagious. Soon I was conversing both in French and English, occasionally slipping into Russian, then trying to translate something that made sense in neither French nor English. Ronald patted my knee, "Don't worry my dear," he said, "We all tend to slip into our childhood languages when we drink wine that is as excellent as this. My Mother spoke French to my brother and I so often that we would answer in French when our Father spoke to us in English. You are lucky that you are fluent in such a difficult language. Can you read it?"

"No, he started to teach us the Cyrillic alphabet, but he was so busy he didn't have time. I am grateful that he made sure that we could speak English, but English is used quite a bit in his business. He was very insistent on our being educated, even his daughters.

"Good for him," he answered, then turned to answer a question he'd been asked about the harvest this year.

"You are most curious, mademoiselle," said Randall, speaking French. "You don't seem to belong here, just what were you doing here?"

I had a ready answer for him, hopefully believable. "Are you familiar with the study of antiquities, Mr. Randall? No?" He shook his head—thank you god. "I have been studying antiquities since a young age. My father was able to find a family who would take me to Egypt with them, and I stayed there for three years. He met a man who taught at the Sorbonne, who took me under his wing, and I was able to study ancient history, though they would not grant me a degree.

"I now specialize in the antiquities trade, especially for wealthy patrons who desire ancient treasures. What they want, I attempt to procure. So now I have both a generous inheritance from my father, I also have an income—and am respected in my field. I've come to England to study sites such as Stone Henge, and Avebury. I would like to travel to the Orkneys and see Sten Ness, after that I will probably go back to Brussels."

Get tired of me talking, please. I've told you enough truth that you don't know the greater lie I've hidden. And thankfully, intelligent women obviously not being his thing, he turned and started talking to someone else.

After dinner, the men excused themselves and went to smoke cigars and drink port. Rather than remaining with the women, I excused myself and tried to find someplace where I could sit and catch my breath. If I found myself having to explain myself too often, it would create a strain on my nerves. I don't know how I was going to get back to the stone circle, but I would be patient and wait, surely an opportunity would present itself.

I walked into a small parlor, and drew back the velvet curtains that covered the window. That treacherous moon that had seemed to follow me throughout my strange odyssey was now full, and the moon shone so brightly that no light was needed in the little room.

There was the faintest hint of light, or maybe a streak of silver where the moon illuminated the lake. The valley was lit with the eeriest of light, making the hills seem both light and shadow. I wonder if the builder of the chateau had seem the valley in the moonlight before he chose this as the place to build his home. I wondered again if the handsome young Jacobite had managed to make good his escape. Where was he now, I wondered.

I smelt him before I felt him. An odor of patchouli, musky and fragrant. The kind of scent a man would wear—if he found such a thing pleasing.

Two hands were on my waist and he was breathing in my ear. The hands grew bolder and when they could not find their way into my bodice, settled instead for cupping my breasts, and pulling me closer to him.

"Stop that," I said, not in the manner of a hysterical or embarrassed and insulted female, but in a voice that showed that I meant business. Instead of stopping, one hand slipped down to my laces and fumbled with them, trying to loosen them.

"I said, stop," I repeated, my voice only loud enough to be heard in the room.

"Why?" Black Jack Randall whispered in my ear, "You're but some common whore the Campbell boys no doubt found. I doubt your claims of being a dealer in antiquities, though I might be inclined to believe you're Russian, I don't believe you are entirely innocent."

"You've undoubted not met Lady Lucille Duff Gordon, I was a guest of hers for a time. Rather shocking she is, she wears Eastern clothes and smokes cigarettes, and takes care of her Egyptians. Either way, I've asked you to stop what you're doing and you're showing no signs of doing it.

"And what do you intend to do about it?" he asked.

"This." I did as my sensei had taught me: used his weight against him and flipped him over my shoulders. I set my foot, clad in my Doc Martins, on his neck. I felt him grab my ankle to try to push me off, so I increased the pressure.

"Now," I told him, "This is what we are going to do. You are going to leave early in the morning. If you try to explain this to someone they won't believe you. You realize I could probably kill you if I wanted, just a bit more pressure on your neck would do it. Everyone thinks Russians are crazy and we don't do anything to disillusion them.

"The laird and his brother seem to be quite taken with me, so I don't think I'd have any problem making them believe me when I tell them you tried to make improper advances in spite of my telling you no. The best part is I'd be telling them the truth, so I don't think you'd be very welcome here after this. And they're loyal subjects of the crown, they're not wild eyed Highlanders."

"Tell you what, if you promise to be a good boy, I'll let you up. And don't even think about trying to retaliate, you'll just find yourself on the floor again. Do we have a deal?"

He nodded, as best he could, and got up. Of course he tried to attack me, and I swept his feet out from under him, inwardly blessing my father for making his children take Karate all those years.

When I let him up again, we stood and stared at each other, taking the other's measures. His aura was no less dark than before, and suddenly, irrationally, I was afraid for Georgie and Colin.

"There is more to you than meets the eye," he told me, his hate clearly showing in his handsome face."

"Yes, and you'd be wise to remember it. I'm not a subject of the crown, but I don't support the Jacobites rebelling because it would only result in far too many needless deaths. Death is something I am not particularly fond of, especially when it happens to an underdog. All I want to do is get back to Brussels to see my mother, and then return to Egypt. You leave me alone, I will leave you alone, but this is one woman who knows how to fight back." I turned, and with a swish of my silk skirts, left the room.


	4. The Barrow Mount

I locked my door that night, not sure if I had gone too far. I had the right to defend myself, it's a God given right, but Captain Randall was an arrogant man, an arrogant dangerous man. Some people just feel wrong when you meet them, and he felt very wrong. I have had this feeling only a few times in my life, but each time it happened my instincts were right. I don't know where I get it from, but I never ignore it.

It took me a while to fall asleep. I might have been able to physically defend myself, but it does not mean it did not leave me shaken. If I could have told someone, it would have been one thing, but this was an awful secret I had to keep to myself.

The first light of dawn was peaking in through gaps in the curtains, but I intended to ignore it and sleep. My plans were upset, however, by loud and persistent knocking at my door.

I wrapped the quilt around me, and answered it. Georgie Campbell was standing there, holding a skirt and a man's shirt. He shoved these at me, saying, "Get dressed and come riding with me. I want to see you prove you really are descended from the horsemen of the steppes." He stood, smiling, waiting for an answer.

I looked at the clothes, then at him. Something told me the shirt I was holding was his, but I did not know where the skirt had come from. "All right," I told him, making up my mind even as I spoke, "I will go riding with you. I'll get dressed and meet you when I'm ready."

"I'll be waiting for you in the library. This will be worth your time, I promise." He gave me his heart breaking smile, and I felt myself melt.

"No," I told myself, "You don't want this. He's young and he's handsome, he's charming and he's deliberately charming you. He's twenty, he's too young for you."

I dressed, pleased that I would not need to wear a corset with the skirt. I pulled a clean pair of socks out of my pack—I would have to wash the others—and put on my Doc Martins.

He was waiting for me in the library. I did not mean to but I gawked at all the books. I looked at one shelf and saw the Roman writers I had read in college: Seneca, Tacitus, Juvenal, Horace. There were volumes of Herodotus, and the "Argonautica" by Apollodoraus of Rhodes—I always had loved the story of the quest for the Golden Fleece. Of course they had the "Iliad" and "The Odyssey". There were more than enough books to keep me occupied for years.

"You like to read, then?" he asked, "This one is a favorite of mine," and he pulled a book off the shelf and showed it to me: "The Republic", by Plato.

"I like it, too, and I also like "The Symposium", though I know some people consider Plato unsuitable for female readers! All of us, my family, I mean, are avid readers. We'll read Shakespeare's plays, for fun. Not to stage them, just sitting and reading them out loud. I'm lucky, I think I've been lucky with my family."

He put the book back on the shelf. "Then you must come in here whenever you like. If someone's in here, just find your book and don't worry about them." He led me to the great front door and opened it, clearly not expecting my reaction.

Captain Randall was standing there, dressed in his red coat. He saw me, and stared, no doubt expecting that I'd look away. I stared back, letting him know he could not intimidate me. It was enough to make him turn back to his men and pretend I wasn't there.

"Is he leaving?" I asked Georgie, and he shrugged.

"He was supposed to be here a week, but he told my father this morning that something came up and he had to return to headquarters. This is very odd, he's never left early before."

"Good, I mean I'm glad that he's leaving. There's something about that man that feels, well, evil. He's keeping a secret, there's things that he's hiding. He's dangerous, he'd stick a dirk in your back and think nothing of it." I was starting to shake, and hoped he wouldn't notice.

He put his hands on my arms and looked into my eyes. "My god, you mean that, don't you? Have you had dealings with him before? Did he hurt you?"

I shook my head, "No it's just something I inherited from my Russian ancestors. My father's like this, and one of my brothers. I don't know where it comes from, all I can tell you is I've never been wrong about things like this. You should stay away from him, he's not to be trusted."

"Hmm," was all he said, and dropped my arms. "Come on, let's get you on a horse. You need a good gallop, and then breakfast and maybe a hot bath. You're upset, I don't want you to be. Come on, I promised you a good ride, and that's exactly what you're going to have."

He took me to the stables and I smelled one of my favorite things: horses. A black hunter had already been saddled for him, and they brought out different horses, trying to find one that would suit me.

"Wait," said Georgie, and walked into the depths of the barn, then came out leading a restive, fiery stallion. The horse fought the lead, tossed his head, there was no way I'd get on him, but he was beautiful. He didn't have the pinched eyes of a mean horse, he was more like a spoiled child who would not cooperate if he did not get his own way. I remember my father working with horses like these—they were only ever good for riders who were smarter than the horse. And were kindly and patient.

I wondered if I could work with him and gentle him enough to make him rideable. "No, you know I won't ride him, but how long has it been since anyone worked with him?" It might be too late now, but this horse excited me enough to want to try. He head butted me and I fell in love, even though he almost knocked me over.

I watched as they led him back to his stall and thought, "Okay, I'll be seeing you again."

The groom brought out a chestnut mare. She snorted and danced, seemed well behaved, but spirited. "This is Birdie," said Georgie as he stroked her nose, "When she was a baby, she used to flutter and dart around like she was trying to fly. Himself is her da, and she can be every bit as mulish as him. I think you can make her behave, though watch out for her tricks, she likes to try you."

We led our horses out of the barn and mounted. Birdie danced around as I tried to get on here, but I refused to let a groom help me. My father trained thoroughbreds as a hobby, and enlisted his children as stable help. I've seen jockeys mount horses as they are in motion, and Birdie was no worse than any of them. Georgie seemed impressed at the way I did not let her antics bother me. I didn't know why, I'd told him I'd been around horses—that I was the descendent of Cossacks.

The horses were fresh and eager to get going, so we gave them their heads and let them gallop until they felt like slowing down. I heard hoof beats behind us and looked around—two riders were following us. I looked at Georgie and asked him why.

"Ah lass," his speech grew more Scottish the more he talked to me, "These are dangerous times. We are a country at war. The Jacobites want to overthrow the king and bring back the old Papist order. They're desperate, dangerous men who will do anything to achieve their end. If you want to go riding on your own, always have one of my guards, or at least a groom with you. You're not to go out on your own, it's too dangerous."

For a moment I was ready to argue, then I remembered what I had read about the war. It was violent and bloody, the Jacobites were waging a fairly effective war against the English. I wonder if this war had split families like it did during the Civil War. So I decided not to argue with him, this time. I was a guest of Clan Campbell, so perhaps it was just as well that I honor his wishes.

I wondered what had happened to Jamie Fraser, the young Jacobite I had met. He'd no doubt counter every argument that Georgie Campbell presented, and probably the two young hotheads would pull their swords, trying to prove their manhood, Sigh. If only it were as harmless as that. Suddenly I wanted to see Jamie very badly, but I hoped he'd not wander so deeply into Clan Campbell territory alone.

"I have something to show you, something you might like to see." Georgie turned his horse onto a track that barely was a path. Evidently this was very old, and led to a place that had once been well visited, but very long ago, maybe even centuries. We rode for a while along the path, then turned onto another that led to a clearing. He sat back in his saddle, very pleased with himself, enjoying the expression on my face when I saw what lay before me.

It was a barrow, a big one though not overly so. There was a ditch that surrounded its perimeter and a few stones stood around it, though there must have been more when the mound was first built.

"Oh my," I breathed, and fought the urge to get down from my horse to explore. It was in near perfect condition and I was dying to know if it had fallen victim to tomb robbers. Judging by its size, and the careful construction, it must have belonged to someone from an important family. Probably only one individual was buried in it, but it was also possible that this was a family tomb.

The archaeologist in me wanted to get my equipment and start taking notes and measurements, but another part of me wanted to leave it alone. This was a lovely discovery, and I was grateful to Georgie for showing it to me.

I started to ride around the perimeter, when I looked down and saw footprints, large footprints, footprints that might belong to a big man. There were no hoof prints, but he hadn't had a pony or horse when I met him. I wonder if he'd made himself a camp here. Jamie, is this you? I thought.

"Stop it," I told myself, "You have no idea who it is, or if they're still there." but I knew somehow that it was Jamie. I wondered what he was doing in Campbell territory, enemy territory. I couldn't do anything about this now, I didn't even know the country well enough to ride at night—if I could get a horse out of the stable—and I definitely knew I could not find this place on my own, not yet.

Hoping that Georgie hadn't seen the footprints, I turned Birdie around. "I'm hungry, I'm ready to go back. I can't thank you enough for showing it to me. I'd really like to come back here, though, there's a lot to study. Would it be possible for me to come back here on my own so I can study this place? I'm wondering if there's any more barrows or graves, if there are any standing stones. This place must be four thousand years old, at least, maybe even older." I tried to give him my most charming smile.

"I'll see what I can arrange. Come on, I'm hungry too. Let's go get our breakfast." He turned his hunter and I followed him as we galloped down the track, back to Chateau La Mere.

We took our breakfast in the kitchen, then Mrs. Simms informed me that the seamstress would be in shortly to measure me for some new gowns, gifts from the Mr. Campbells. I smiled and pretended to be pleased. The fact that I was being provided with a new wardrobe hammered home the fact that I was helpless, I was trapped here with no way to escape. In spite of the kindness of my hosts, in spite of the warmth and friendliness with which I was treated, I was a prisoner in fact, miles from that place I needed to be.

I wanted to go home.

I submitted gracefully to the ministrations of the seamstress. In addition to materials for everyday gowns, there were two exquisite lengths of silk, one sky blue and the other a rose pink color. It would be nice, I thought, to wear new clothes, not gowns that were almost twice as old as me and I was afraid would rip if I moved wrong. Not that I minded old Mrs. Campbell's dresses—right now the seamstress was altering a gown made of dark green and gold silk brocade. I didn't care how old fashioned the dress was, it was simply lovely and emphasized the color of my hair.

I was able to wear the gown that night. The lairds had invited some of their neighbors, and there was a small dinner party. I, evidently, was the guest of honor, but it could have been anyone or any occasion. The lairds, as I learned later, enjoined entertaining and would use any excuse that was available.

Georgie smiled his approval through dinner. I did my best to simultaneously ignore him and be polite. He was too handsome and too young. He was so appealing with those eyes that matched his dark brown hair. He even charmed me into dancing with him after dinner after I protested that I knew none of the dances, but he guided me so well following the steps was easy.

I made my escape as the last of the guests were leaving. He had been watching me all night, a look on his face that I could not interpret. It made me uneasy, and all I wanted to do now was escape to my room and lock the door behind me.

I started up the stairs, checking to make sure he had not followed me—why. I feared that I did not know, but I did. By the time I heard the footsteps behind me, it was too late to try to defend myself. Georgie pinned my arms next to my sides and pressed me close to him, then dragged me to a hidden alcove at the top of the stairs.

"I saw you with Jack Randall," he whispered, "I was going to come to your aid but you seemed able to defend yourself. Too bad that you made an enemy, he's not someone you want to cross, but I suppose you didn't have much choice."

I said nothing. I could do nothing, he was holding me too tightly, his grip like iron. He began to caress my neck with his lips, blow gently in my ear, then caressing it with his tongue, oh so lightly, but it made me shiver and I wanted him to stop—but I didn't.

He shifted his grip to free one hand. I could not get away, I could do nothing and he knew it. He loosened my laces and found my breasts, caressing them. He pulled me further back into the alcove where no one could see us.

With a skilled hand he raised my petticoats and skirt, then fumbled with his trousers, probably wishing he was wearing his kilt. Then in spite of my protestations, he pushed himself into me, rocking both of us against the wall. The hand he placed over my mouth was not to keep me from calling out for help, and we both knew it.

I gave up any pretense of resistance and gave in to him. We were both lost and knew it. I don't know how long it lasted, but when he at last pulled out of me, my legs felt like jelly, and I collapsed onto him, helpless, utterly and blissfully spent.

But I had one shred of dignity left, "Why in the world did you do that, with all the lovely young girls in this household? You don't need me."

"Oh, but I want you, lass," he was sounding very Scottish, "I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you. I told Colin I planned to marry you, so don't think you're going to be leaving me."

"What if I don't want to marry you?" I retorted, but he only smiled.

"Well, you'll just have to get used to the fact that you are."

I was furious, and started to walk way when something made me turn around and look at him. He was smiling, that glorious, infuriating smile that I loved. I held out my hand, and he took it, and I took him to my room where we'd have all night.


	5. My Lady

He left sometime in the middle of the night, I think. I rolled over and spent the rest of the night where he'd been, inhaling the fragrance of outdoors, whisky, and Georgie. All I know is I slept better than I had before this whole adventure began.

Someone began pounding on my door, and as I opened my eyes I realized light was coming in, and it was daybreak. I pulled on my shift, and went to the door and opened it carefully.

"Get up," he bounded in with that energy that so amazed me, "Get dressed, we're going riding.'

"No, I'm going to sleep, you kept me awake for half the night. We can ride tomorrow, or maybe even this afternoon." I was trying to shove him out the door, but he would have none of it.

"Well, if you don't want to ride, we'll do something else. It will be a while before anyone misses me." To make his point he pushed me against the wall, and started to pull up my nightgown. He put his face close to mine, close enough to kiss me, but I ducked out from underneath his arm.

"No, you don't do that again until you have your father's permission to court me. You said you wanted to marry me, so you prove it. You probably have the pick of the girls around here, you don't need me. You want me, you have to deserve me." I emphasized the word, "I'm thirty years old, I'm not available for indiscriminate tumbles in the hay, or whatever. I've outgrown that. You want me, you treat me the way I deserve to be treated."

"Thirty are you? I thought you were maybe twenty five at the most, if that. So, I guess I've fallen in love with an older woman—they'll be saying you seduced me, you know."

"I'll set them straight—it was half a rape. If I'd tried to tell you "no", how much good would it have done me?"

"Not much," he admitted, "Now, I told Colin I was going to marry you, not that I wanted to marry you. So if I have to talk to my da before you'll let me in your bed again, I guess that's what I'll have to do. Can we go riding please? I'll even take you back to the barrow if you like."

I gave in—it was the path of least resistance. I couldn't convince him to leave while I dressed, he made himself useful and helped tie my petticoats and my cuffs. He fingered the scarf that I had coveted and splurged on, along with the silver brooch. He put it around my neck, not even looking at my denim jacket, and fastened the pin.

"Where did you get this lass?" he asked, "It's very fine work."

"Oh, at a shop in Edinburgh," I said carelessly. I didn't know what Inverness was like now, so Edinburgh seemed bigger and safe.

"Well, it's very fine work, and the red suits you," he said, and took my hand as we made our way down the stairs and out of the house.

They'd saddled his bay for him, and Birdie for me. She eyed me warily as I mounted her. She'd tried to unseat me a couple of times yesterday, but learned that I was wise to her tricks. There was no prancing or turning as I swung up into the saddle.

"Ready?" asked Georgie, and we galloped off, heading for the hills. This time I paid careful attention to where we rode. If I had to sneak a horse out of the stable at night, I'd better know where I was riding, though the country would be pitch black without moonlight. It had been dark when I'd been on digs, but we usually lit fires, had flashlights…

How could I have been so stupid? There was a small flashlight in my pack that cast a powerful beam. As long as I memorized the landmarks and knew the road, I could ride away at night. That made me feel much better, I had solved a problem, knocked down a roadblock. If I decided I wanted to leave the chateau, a way might have opened up.

At the turnoff to the barrow was a boulder with a large juniper growing next to it. The tree was so tall and scraggly it looked like it could have been planted when the barrow was built, but junipers don't live that long. A perfectly round boulder, so round that it must have been worked, stood at the head of the avenue that lead to the mound. All landmarks I could identify if I needed to.

There were two stones, carved into rough rectangular shape that stood next to the ditch surrounding the mound. I looked around, trying to find the sun to determine where on the point of the compass they would have stood.

"Where's east?" I asked, feeling stupid as I did so.

"That way," Georgie pointed to the stones. I rode around the ditch, circumnavigating the mound, trying to fix the points of the compass in my mind while I searched for footprints. No fresh prints, and maybe it hadn't been Jamie after all. Somehow I felt let down when I realized that. He wouldn't have come to Campbell lands, after all, but I had still wanted to see him. Somehow he was a connection to the ordeal I had gone through.

I joined Georgie at the two stones, standing at the edge of the ditch, looking oddly like two teeth in a bare gum. "Has anyone ever come here for the winter or summer solstice? It's possible that the sun will shine through the gap in the stones," here I pointed out where I meant. "It would shine from one direction for winter, and another for summer. It does that at Stonehenge, it comes in through two stones on Mid Summer's Day. It doesn't look like there were every any other stones here, just these. I wonder if a priest, and maybe his family, was buried here."

"It's possible the witches come here for their esbats, but they'd not tell anyone in the village about it. They don't burn witches at the stake anymore, but that doesn't mean that they necessarily want people to know what they were up to. They do a good business with potions and spells, but no one would want to know what else goes on. Are you a witch, my little Russian lassie?

"I'll never tell," I teased, "Can't I come up here alone? It's only a few miles from the chateau. If I have to bring an escort," I pointed my thumb at the men who had accompanied us, "I'm sure I wouldn't be left in peace to do the work here I want to do. He'd want to leave way before I was ready to. And besides, how can you tell me I can't? Are we married yet? No. Have you talked to your father yet? No. All you could really do is keep me from getting a horse—but I'd walk here if I had to.

"Now listen carefully," he put his arm around my waist and drew me tightly to him, "You try to go anywhere without an escort and I'll turn you over my knee. And I might even lock you naked in your room and forget that I intend to be a gentleman when it comes to bedding you. And don't even think about refusing me. I'll bed you until I get you in pup, and then you'll have to marry me. Either way, get used to minding me now or face the consequences."

I made a face at him, but I felt my insides starting to melt. I was going to stick to my guns, there would be no more nooky until he made good on his promise, but I wished right now that we could go find a hidden place in the bushes and pick up where we left off last night.

We rode back, deciding to sate our appetites with food in place of what we really wanted. When we finished breakfast, he kissed me and went off to attend to family business. I wondered how I could fill my time, then decided to put Himself on the surcingle and lunge line. I wanted to see if he was capable of being ridden, or if he'd be best just left in the pasture. It wouldn't hurt him to be ridden a little every day, just enough to exercise him and keep his manners in line. Go without riding a horse for long enough, you may find yourself having to break him again, and then good luck.

I went to the tack room to look for what I needed when someone grabbed my shoulder and put his hand over my mouth. "Shh, lass, it's me," a familiar voice said in my ear, "I had to check on you, since I was in the area anyway. I heard that the Campbells had taken you with them, and I wanted to make sure you were being treated well."

"Jamie," I said and wrapped my arms around his waist, "I've been so worried, I thought that you'd gotten away but I had no way of knowing. I thought that maybe you had camped at the barrow mound, but I didn't know for sure. What are you doing here, so deep in Campbell territory?"

"Just a little spying is all. I'm trying to see if there are any Jacobite sympathizers around to recruit for Dougal. I'm heading back to Castle Leoch tonight, but I've been trying to find out if you were here. How are they treating you?"

"Very well, as an honored guest, as a matter of fact. And unless he's lying, the young laird is trying to marry me. I'm sure the lairds will have a thing or two to say about that. If they don't like it, I'll offer to go back to Inverness, and I'll apologize for something that wasn't even my fault. With my luck, though, they'll give their consent, and I'll have a husband whether I want one or not."

He laughed softly, "So Georgie Campbell has fallen for ye! I've heard about that one and his reputation with the ladies, but I can't say I'm surprised if he's smitten with you. I bet you've left a trail of broken hearts whether you're willing to admit it or not. I've got to go, sweetheart, before someone sees me, and good luck trying to gentle that stallion. He's too spoiled for anything but covering mares now, but maybe you can teach him a few manners all the same." He kissed the top of my head, "Be careful and don't give away anything. I'm not saying lie, but don't tell anyone anything they don't need to know."

I hugged him again, "I won't, and you be careful, too. They are constantly sending out patrols, and Georgie brings along two guards every time we ride. Stay under cover and don't let anyone see you—please. I don't want anything to happen to you. Maybe someday..." He gave me one last squeeze, then bowed and ducked out of the tack room. I didn't dare watch to see where he went.

I decided that stallion schooling could wait for another day, and ran up to the safety of my room.

I spent the afternoon curled up in the library. Though not unpleasant, my room was small and the luxury of so much space was hard to resist. I pulled a copy of "The Odyssey" from the shelves. I felt like Odysseus, trying only to go home, obstacle after obstacle thrown in my way by the gods. I was looking forward to teaching a new archaeology class. I was going to Paris before I flew back to Chicago. I wanted Jamie to take me with him, back to Inverness so that I could go back to the standing stone and summon the power to take me back where I belonged.

Unless the stones at the edge of the barrow could help. What would happen if I stood before them at sunrise of the winter solstice? Could I use the energy from the sun to propel my way back to my own time? But the solstice was a good two months away, I told myself, I didn't want to wait that long to go home, if I could help it.

There was a knock at the door, a gentle tapping. "Excuse me miss," it was one of the laird's footmen, "The lairds would like to see you now."

Georgie, evidently, had wasted no time. Both Lord Campbells sat at a desk, facing me. I could not read their faces, except to see consternation, combined with a little amusement. Well, it was amusing, their son was asking to marry a woman no one knew, one with no history, no money, really, and no connections. This was eighteenth century Scotland, not the twenty first century that I knew.

Georgie's father was the first to speak. "We have just finished speaking to my son, to my great astonishment he has said that he wished to marry you."

"No less to mine," I replied, "And I am sorry to be the source of trouble. I did not take him seriously, he is only twenty, is he not? I am sure you have had plans for him for a long time now."

Adam Campbell's mouth twitched at the corner, "Has my nephew made any unwelcome advances to you? Please do not be afraid to tell us the truth."

"Not entirely unwelcome, my lord, but would have been welcomed under other circumstances. I simply told him that he could not court me without your permission." I did not bother to mention that advances had been made and welcomed. I simply wanted to put a stop to things before they progressed. I had no desire to be Georgie Campbell's toy.

"I would wish to see my son happy, but it would be advantageous to marry for an alliance. You are obviously well educated, and would be an asset to him and our family, but marriage is not a frivolous matter." Lord George looked at me, do you see the point I'm making, his expression said.

"Marriage should never be a frivolous matter," I replied, "My mother and father knew exactly what they were doing, in spite of the difference in families. Hers was a merchant family that had ties that went back to Burgundy, he was a humble fisherman, but a man of the sea. After they married my father took charge of my grandfather's fleet, and cut back the number of ships lost. He had no family connections, but he increased the wealth of my grandfather and the family. Even royals marry commoners—I believe "manurering the field" is the vulgar term.

"If he wants to marry me, I want to marry him," My god, was I really saying this? "But I don't want to marry him without your blessing. If you don't want me here, please help me get back to Inverness where he found me. I am ready to leave if you wish. I don't wish to cause trouble, and hope that I haven't."

"Actually, my dear," Adam smiled, "You aren't objectionable, far from it. Georgie is rather insistent that you are the only one he intends to marry, and frankly you seem like a good match for the boy. We've never seen him this serious about a woman, and certainly he's never voiced any intention of marrying anyone. We'd like to give this some thought, but frankly neither my brother nor I see any reason to object. He's a bit of a womanizer, and I'd welcome the opportunity to see that changed."

I thanked them and left. Not the response I had anticipated. I was physically attracted to young Campbell, I had had a taste of what our marriage bed would be like, and it would be very satisfying. Our age difference didn't seem to be an obstacle to our compatibility, he was very handsome, and I found that I liked the person behind that engaging smile.

But I had a life, one I had worked hard for and would lose if I stayed here. I liked being Dr. Bogdashevskaya. I liked my little house in Luxor, working on the digs every season. I even loved Egypt, "the gift of the Nile." And I loved teaching my students, no one takes archaeology unless they are truly interested in it.

But I had been lonely. I was busy, I had friends, but since I had broken off my relationship (with good reason) with Robbie, there had been no one. All Georgie had to do was touch me, and I felt it all over. He was sexually precocious, very sure of himself—I'd had much older lovers who hadn't been nearly as satisfying as that cock sure of himself twenty year old.

"Admit it," I said to myself, "You want him as badly as he wants you. You've just been hurt, you don't trust him. Maybe it's with good reason, maybe it's only you, but you're afraid of him."

Suddenly he stood in the doorway. He came into my room shutting and locking the door behind him.

"Take off your clothes," he was already starting to remove his—and smiling.

"What, did they say yes?" They couldn't have given consent, could they?

He came over to me and turned me around. "I forgot you might need help with your laces." He began to untie the laces on my bodice, his mouth found my neck and I shivered. "I have a better idea," he whispered, "I'll take your clothes off—My Lady Campbell."

Soon my clothes were lying in a pile around my feet. Georgie took hold of my hand and slid an exquisite ruby ring on the third finger. It was beautiful—and old. The ruby was the size of my little fingernail, and was set with a small diamond on either side.

"It's beautiful," I breathed, "Where did it come from?

"It was my grandmother's. My grandfather purchased it from the finest jeweler in London.

He took hold of my hand and kissed it. "I, George Campbell, do plight thee my troth."

"I, Irina Victoria Bogdashevskaya, do plight thee my troth." I guessed that was the correct response.

He smiled, "We're as good as married now, all that's left is for the marriage contract to be drawn up and signed. So, when do you want your wedding ceremony to take place, Mrs. Campbell?" He picked me up and carried me to the bed.

"I'm not Mrs. Campbell, yet," I said, annoyed, "The day after Boxing Day would do. That's enough time to have a dress or two made, I think." I turned on my side and smiled at him.

"Yes, women place great store in that sort of thing, don't they? My aunt is probably planning your trousseau right now. So, you want to have our festivities when everyone is celebrating the Christmas holidays." He stripped off the rest of his clothes and pulled me close.

"Yes. I want to get married before everything grows cold and dark. Why not get married when we can really celebrate it? That's two months before Lent. Do you think we can find a church and a priest who can perform the ceremony for us?"

"If we can't, father and uncle can buy one for us. We can even go to London if you like, I'm sure that some of the family could come. Or Edinburgh, it's closer to home. Ask my aunt, she's very resourceful. If you let her plan your wedding, you won't have to worry about anything."

Which didn't seem like a bad idea. I felt like I was caught in a whirlwind, I'd lost control the day Georgie took me from place of the sacred stones. I let the heart of the whirlwind itself entwine me in his arms and make love to me while he whispered endearments into my ear. What had I gotten myself into?


	6. Winter

I have not worked on this for the past month. First my mother had a stroke, then she died a few weeks later. It is, after all, to be expected when your mother is 90, but that did not make things any easier to deal with. Apologies.

This chapter seems to be about Irina reflecting on her situation and what, if anything, is to be done about it.

I had naively supposed that an engagement was an engagement. It was feeling more like the establishment of a treaty between two foreign powers.

I'm an Egyptologist, I know all about dynastic unions, but had never been involved in one, especially where I was one of the parties.

Take the dowry, for example. I am not rich, but you could say I'm comfortably well off. I own houses in Chicago and Luxor. My brokerage account has recovered from the recession and is back to six figures. I make a very good salary at the university, I also teach part time at the American University in Cairo, I do speaking engagements, and have done one television special. I am not a well-known face, but I am respected in my field.

Here this means nothing. Even if I could get to my money, it would be worthless. In the eyes of Georgie's family, I am educated, yet penniless. I would be worth only so much as I would have been able to sell from my last dig. So, for them, they are being generous and allowing him to marry a pauper, which in reality I'm not.

The marriage contract is a strange affair. Given my financial straits, Georgie has insisted that a generous sum be made available to me if he dies. An extra sum is added to that for each child I bear that survives infancy. Though it feels like no more than a business proposition, I am grateful that he is looking out for me. If I were widowed, I could be left desolate and at the mercy of his family. As it is, I will be financially independent and can go anywhere I like.

I have acquired a body guard and two maids, none of which I want-I think I've been assigned babysitters. I am insisting on staying in my room until my marriage—there is no sense in moving me to a fancier one. If Georgie insists on seeing me at night, let him climb up to the third floor. I am comfortable where I am.

There is a flurry of dress and shoe making going on. I'm happy with the homespun and wool I've been wearing, and my lady's old gowns. My Doc Martins are probably better made and more comfortable than any cobbler could produce, but I'm stuck. I'm going to be the young laird's lady and must keep up appearances.

The feminine part of me is enjoying the dress making, for the fabrics if nothing else. My wedding dress is a confection of silver and white brocade, lined with white fur. There's quilted petticoats for warmth made of silk, and my stockings and shoes are white and silver. There are dresses for formal occasions and dresses of wool and linen for everyday. I have even had a cherry red silk dress made because Georgie loves the color on me, and I must admit that it flatters my hair and skin.

Though I don't want to think about it, I know that I will go straight to the standing stone at Inverness if something does happen to him. I have no idea how time will be affected, but I want to try to go home if something does happen to him. I do not belong here, but I am in love with a boy who is on the verge of manhood who has somehow won my heart. I must stay here for a while, but I don't think about things yet. When I get too scared, I think about Georgie.

Jamie must be gone, I have not seen him since he said goodbye to me in the tack room. I put Himself on the lunge line every day, despite his objections he basically behaves himself. It's a shame they quit riding him, he would be quite a nice horse. With luck, maybe I'll be able to make him rideable again, and ride him a little every day just to exercise him, like they do at breeding farms.

Georgie seems determined to get me pregnant, but I'm not, not for lack of trying. So far I'm not worried, there are no barren women on either side of my family that I know of. I don't know if coming through the portal affected me, but my body seems normal. Call me old fashioned, but I'd rather get pregnant after my wedding, not before. And somehow I have faith that it will happen. I feel rather serenely about that, and I don't consider myself an overly intuitive person.

It's growing colder, getting too cold and rainy sometimes to ride in the morning. Georgie told me that they get some snow, but since they're down in the valley they experience less of it. I don't like not being able to ride, it helps to relieve the tension. I don't like being housebound, it's too easy to fixate upon my situation and my inability to do anything about it. With each day that passes I realize more and more just how badly I want to go home.

I present a happy face for Georgie and my kind hosts, soon to be family, but inside I am screaming. I am grateful to have found someone I seem so completely compatible with. He may be young, but he's wise beyond his years. He's handsome, he's funny, he's kind, he's intelligent. In bed he takes me places I never thought I could go—which comes as a surprise. When we're alone, we talk and talk. He's so easy to talk to that I wish I could tell him my secret. Maybe he'd decide he didn't want to marry me after all, and take me back to the standing stone outside Inverness instead.

Or not.

Georgie tells me that if it's a bad winter, the raiding will slow down and it will be a little less dangerous for a while. That still does not preclude my riding on my own, or riding at all for that matter. Since riding for pleasure is out of the question for now, I go and help in the stables. I don't mind mucking stalls, I never did. I know how to look for symptoms of illnesses, can help treat colic. I've assisted at delivery of foals, and I know signs of mares in labor. Thank god for the stable and the library.

We've had two solid weeks of bad weather, and it's finally clearing a little—maybe for a day. News comes in that a raiding party has been seen, whether it's the Jacobites or just cattle raiders, no one knows. Security is tightened in the chateau, and guards have been doubled at doors and gates. If I wanted to slip out now with a horse, I wouldn't be able to do it. Georgie takes pleasure in knowing how frustrated and angry I am. He teases me, trying to cheer me up, but I snap at him and shut him out of my room.

Then I hit upon a plan, and wonder why I didn't think of it before. Why try to slip out on my own, why not disguise myself and ride out in a group? No one will notice my jeans and Doc Martins if I can find the right coat and a hat to cover my hair. I'm tall, five foot eight, and I'm as tall as some of the men—Georgie is just five ten as far as I can tell. I'll wrap my scarf around my neck so that it muffles part of my chin. I'll ride at the back so hopefully no one will pay attention to me. This might just work, if I can find the right coat to complete my disguise.

The only problem is the weather is too bad for me to ride all the way to Inverness. It's way too cold and rainy. If I did manage it, I would be half dead from pneumonia, and my horse wouldn't be in much better shape. If I am to make my escape, I must do it when the weather warms in the late spring. My only chance was to leave just after I got here, but I was more closely watched then than I am now. I hope that I won't get pregnant—God forgive me for saying that, but it's true. And I can no more resist Georgie than I can resist breathing.

I pull on my coat and scarf and head to the stables. The mud is cupping around my boots so I can't lunge Himself today. I decide to try something else, as opposed to going back into the house. I can sit and read for a while, but I don't knit, or do needlework, or sew-it drives me crazy. I'm a professor, for God's sake, a teacher, only here I can't teach. I can train horses, though.

I go into the barn and look around, then find what I'm looking for. There's a place where I can tie up Himself, and he'll have a little kicking room. I take him out of the stall, and tie him to a ring in the wall, then go look for a saddle blanket, one that's got some weight that he'll feel.

He's not happy about being tethered so closely to the wall but he'll live. Carefully I lay the blanket on his back. His back trembles, I can tell he's hollowed it, and he's moving his hind quarters and his hooves around, letting me know he's unhappy. I pull off the blanket, and he turns his head and gives me a dirty look.

I laugh at him and tell him that will do him no good. I place the blanket back on his back and he pins back his ears and snorts. I wait and remove the blanket again. He tries to shake his head, but he doesn't have enough space. I honestly expected him to buck the first time, but he may be waiting to do that. I put the blanket on his back and he gets a little hoppy, but though the ears are down they're not pinned. I wonder what would happen if I tried to put a saddle on him. How would he react?

Old Marsters, who's almost a family retainer, comes over; he's been watching what I'm doing. I get some history about this horse I'm in love with. He's thrown a couple of people, but he isn't mean tempered. He's just a lot of trouble to ride, you have to be on your toes and ready for the next trick he'll try. He's a mixture of warmblood and Arabian, hence his lovely grey color. I know Arabians and thoroughbreds well, and some of them are very temperamental, even mean sometimes. Himself isn't mean. He's never tried to bite me, and likes to have his ears scratched. They just gave up on him and used him for stud instead.

I put him back in the stall, and go stand outside. I'm lonely, I want Georgie to come home. I want to go up to my room and make love until it's time for dinner. As if in response, the men ride into the stable yard and Georgie waves to me. He gets down from his bay and comes over and hugs me tight.

"God, am I glad to see you, it was hell today. We found the trail of a group of raiders, and though we tracked them for hours, we couldn't find anything. From now on, if you ride, I'm coming with you. Someone's here, Irina, cattle are missing and a couple of men have been killed. If they find you, they'll kidnap you and hold you for ransom. These are rough men, Irina, and not to be taken lightly."

Being kidnapped does not sound appealing, but I am so bored that it almost seems like a welcome diversion. I say nothing, though, and take him by the hand and lead him to my room. He should probably talk to his father and his uncle, but Colin can do that for him. He doesn't object, even when he says, "I have to talk to father," as I lock the door behind us.

"Later," I reply and he seems perfectly amenable. For the next hour we forget there is any world but my small upstairs room and he seems to lose himself in me. I'm rather lost myself and he's using me hard, making me moan and beg him to take it easy. He shakes his head no and resumes his rough lovemaking until he has to put his hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds of my screams.

I know he wants to get up, he needs to go see his father, but he can't bring himself to leave. He entwines his left hand in mine, and kisses me on the ring, then rubs it, a habit he has. If this were twenty first century America, there might be no wedding. He may be a rogue, but he's still a gentleman, and a gentleman marries the lady he's in love with if he's able. I don't know how hard he had to fight for me, but he clearly intended that I would be his wife and no other. I, on the other hand, have been indifferent to marriage for quite a while. I have, or I had, a rewarding career, something I might have dreamed about when I was young. Now all that is going to change.

He gets up and reluctantly starts putting on his clothes. "I've got to go talk to father, and find out what Colin has told him."

"They're going to know what you've been doing," I teased.

He comes over to the bed and kisses me. "Yes, I'm very well aware of that. I think they let me marry you because they're afraid you're pregnant, or will be soon."

"Which is what you want. Are you afraid I'll leave you? We have lots of time to get me pregnant. I don't want it to happen until after the wedding. Can you imagine the talk if we had a seven or eight month baby?"

"Wouldn't be the first time, darling," he kissed me and left me alone.

I lay in bed for a few more minutes, inhaling his scent. When I finally get up, I wash myself off before donning my clothes. I wonder, not for first time, is this really real? The wonder of falling so deeply in love. The question of whether the reality I'm in is actually real, or is this a dream that I'm dreaming? In mythology, this would be possible, but I was born in the twentieth century, A.D. This is not really possible, is it? If so, where am I?


	7. Trouble Coming

HA! I finally completed this chapter. I'm setting up for the second half here, the fantasy/erotic stuff is the next chapter. Ever since I read the first "Outlander" book, I've wanted to write a version of Clair's punishment of my own. I've picked up a couple of readers' follow and favorites since I posted it. Thank you kindly for liking it!

I undid my braid and brushed my hair, choosing to let it hang loose. I dressed for dinner in my green brocade gown, and headed downstairs to the great hall where Colin found me.

"Aha," he smiled, "Now I know why my cousin was detained."

"Is it that obvious?" I asked quietly.

"Yes, but you look delicious, I envy him." He draped his arms around my neck, his grey eyes staring into mine. "You know, I'll always be there for you if you need me. If anything ever happens to Georgie, I want you to know you can count on me, for whatever you need."

"Yes, thank you, I do appreciate that." I diplomatically withdrew myself from his embrace. As much as Georgie loved him like a brother, as kind as he always is to me, something about Colin Campbell made me nervous. I have no reason to dislike him, but sometimes he seemed too friendly, too eager to be of help. He and Georgie are close, spend much of their time together (when Georgie isn't devoting himself to me), have grown up together. They are brothers in all but fact.

In spite of this, however, Colin, no matter how well intentioned he seemed, scares me just a little.

Then men were out on the hunt the next day to try to catch the phantom raiders, which left me at home, idle once again. I decided to relieve my boredom by putting a saddle on Himself. The stallion was used to me, accepted the carrot I brought for him and did not fight me when I put him on the lead. I tied him to the ring in the wall, only giving him a little more head, then went to get the saddle.

I looked at the saddle I held in my hands, wishing it was western style, but I am going to half to make do. If I get brave enough to get on his back, I won't have the familiar saddle horn to hold onto.

Holding the saddle I go up to him, speaking in soothing tones, and set it on his back. Maybe he couldn't get his head low enough to buck, but he wasn't fighting it. I removed the saddle, then retrieved the blanket I used yesterday and placed both on his back, cinching them up just tightly enough to keep him from throwing it off his back. I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen.

Nothing, nothing was what was happening, but this horse was not stupid. I'd expected him to tremble, do something, but he just stood there. Feeling brave, I unhitched him from the wall and began to lead him down the walkway.

I should have known it was too good to be true, he began to buck in earnest, letting me know how unhappy he was about the saddle on his back. I stood and held onto the lead, not reacting. When he quit, I put him in his stall and removed the saddle.

I shut the stall door and we looked at each other. "We will get along just fine," his look clearly said, "When you give up this silly notion of trying to turn me back into a saddle horse."

"Very well," I answered, "I think that you may be better behaved than you let on. I'll have to think about this. For now, lesson one is completed." I put the saddle in the tack room, and sighed. This had taken up too little of my time. I wanted to ride, but Birdie had kicked herself in her stall, and had gone lame. I am sure there were other horses I could ride, but Marsters had gone with the search party and there was no one to help me out. The barn would be deserted until the men were gone. Maybe if I asked Georgie nicely, he would take me riding tomorrow, even if it meant a break from cow thief hunting.

I headed back to the house, bored to tears. I was met by Mrs. Simms who informed me that the seamstress was here for final fittings on the dresses that had been made for me. I spent over an hour trying on dresses, petticoats, nightgowns, and my wedding gown to make sure they fit, and was as pleasant as I could be as the women of the chateau fussed over me.

I was grateful when I could make my escape outside. The chateau was big, but I still felt trapped within its walls. I needed to ride and felt I could not wait any longer.

I went into the barn and began to look at horses. Birdie and Himself were out of the question. All I needed was a healthy horse that could be controlled by any rider. I could eliminate any horse that had foot problems, but the rest? I sighed, realizing that I had too much of a conscience to just take a horse when I didn't know who it belonged to.

All right, I would walk then. The one place I knew I could find was the barrow. If I didn't get all the way and had to turn around and go back, that was fine. This was the nicest day we'd had in two weeks. There were no rain clouds in the sky, for a change, and the ground had dried up a bit. I'd just avoid the places where the search parties had ridden and stay away from the mud. I'd be back before Georgie got back, I reckoned. Time enough for a good walk to tire me out and calm my nerves. Georgie had said I couldn't ride without him, he'd said nothing about walking.

That was splitting hairs and I knew it, but I looked longingly at the people going to and from the chateau. They were free and I wasn't. Finally I couldn't stand it. I turned away from the great double doors of the chateau and took the first steps that would lead me out onto the road.

I mingled with the people making their way to and from the great house. Merchants, traders, soldiers. If anyone were to see me, they would pay no notice, I was just another nameless face in a crowd.

They didn't seem afraid of danger, why should I? Maybe Georgie had exaggerated the threat to keep me under his watchful eye. All I knew was that with each step I grew braver, each breath I took seemed deeper, allowing more oxygen into my lungs. My steps seemed to get lighter and lighter. The unseen wall that had surrounded me was overthrown and I was free. I hadn't realized how confined I had felt. Even going outside to lunge Himself no longer seemed freeing. For the first time in days I was truly on my own.

I turned onto a side road that would take me up the hill to the barrow, and found myself on my own. Heaven. No sound except for the occasional call of a bird. I rejoiced in the almost preternatural stillness. There was even an eerie blue sky above me, an almost glorious shade of blue in a country that was not known for such skies.

I continued my trek up the hill, wondering again why the mound had been hidden. I hadn't really done as much of a survey of the stones outside Inverness as I'd liked, but I hadn't seen any signs of gateway stones to signal the arrival of an equinox or solstice. The barrow had two stones that probably would outline the rising sun on the winter or summer solstice. It was possible that the barrow could have been a place of worship. I hadn't had a chance to explore the site, so I didn't know what else was there, if anything.

And then I heard a sound, and I knew what that sound was. I had practically grown up around horses. I paused, listened, and heard it again. The jingling of brides, the snorting of horses, and the voices of men…

What were men doing here? It was as sacrilegious as it had been at Inverness. Someone was camped here, or they were hiding here. I don't who they are but I am taking no chances. I have not seen them, yet, so hopefully they have not seen me. I turn around with the intention of returning to the main road, and going home.

"Not so fast, lass." I turn around and two of them are behind me. My heart sank inwardly, am I even going to be able to make my way back home? I contemplated running, but they're on horseback—I won't get far. I decided to stay where I was and raised my hands to indicate that I would not try to run, or fight. The fight part may come later if I have a chance. No matter what color your karate belt, it's no defense against a gun—or men on horseback.

I turned around and looked at them. These were the "rough men" that Georgie had spoken of. They had hard, tired faces. Their horses looked haggard, like they had been ridden for too many days and not enough rest. And they looked in bad need of oats. It's a crime to wear out horses like that.

The men looked strangely alike, long stringy hair, shaggy beards, even their hunting kilts looked identical. One rode a little closer, then began to address me in Gaelic, which of course I can neither speak nor understand.

"I speak Russian, French, and English," I said, speaking in the latter, "I doubt you speak Russian, you may or may not speak French, but English would probably be the best choice." I wanted to add, "If you speak it, that is," but decided not to provoke hostilities. I would be the most cooperative of hostages.

"May I put my arms down, it's really not very comfortable. I don't have any weapons and it would be stupid to try to run" I also had this uncontrollable urge to say, "Take me to your leader", and had to keep from laughing from hysteria.

It's not like I wasn't scared, I was terrified, but this was not a new situation for me. I've had guns pulled on me, been taken hostage, and have had to talk myself out of a very bad situation more than once. We usually have armed guards on our dig sites now, it's nothing new for archaeologists to find themselves in dangerous situations. We get threatened by looters, by villagers and petty local officials. We disavow Indiana Jones, but his situations can be eerily similar to ones we find ourselves in sometimes.

One of the men pulled me up on his horse, and I sat quietly behind him while we rode to their camp. Don't panic, I told myself, you've done this before. If you can't get away sooner, then try for later.

There was more to this site than I knew about. There was a large cave, and they'd made camp in it. Unusual to see a cave, but I'm sure someone had made use of it in the past. Maybe it had been a dwelling, maybe mined for flint, maybe it had been a tomb. Whatever its past, it provided shelter from the wind that blew in the hills. A fire had been lit, evidently whoever these people were, they weren't worried.

Someone came out of the cave, and I recognized the tall, lanky form immediately. Our eyes met, but we gave no indication of recognition, except that he nodded his head slightly. Jamie! Whatever would follow, I knew I could count on him to help me. I was scared, but not so much as I was, I knew I had someone on my side.

"What did ye find there, Angus? Looks like a fairy queen to me."

"She was wandering around on her own, so Murtagh and I decided to bring her to Dougal and see what he thinks. Maybe he'll hold her for ransom, we could use the siller."

"Don't know if we have time for that, it's time to be getting on home. I don't think Dougal wants to spend the winter chasing cows when he could be in the warmth of his own home. I, for one, want to be at Lallybroch, or Leoch before it gets much colder. Maybe he'll just find out what she knows and send her home, we'll be well on our way back by then."

"Ah, but she's a Campbell, or under their protection. Maybe they won't object to buying her back from us."

You're going to be disappointed, I'm not a Campbell, not yet. I'm their son's betrothed. Maybe they'd pay a ransom, but I'm willing to bet they'd rather send out a large search party as soon as they know I'm gone, and try to wipe you out. I don't want that to happen, so I've got to try to get away—soon.

"I'll take her to Dougal," Jamie volunteered, and took my arm. The firmness of his grip was reassuring, I felt safe, like he was my shield from the others. If only they knew.

The man he presented me to was not so tall as him, but he had a straight up, military bearing. He must have been about fifteen or twenty years older than me, he had an abundance of salt and pepper hair, but it was thinning at the temples. He made up for it with his beard. It was not too long, but full, and I'd be willing to be he kept it trimmed when he was not on the road. He was handsome and must have even been more so when he was young. And he looked like he was nobody's fool.

"What's your name, girl?" The rich, deep voice went with the face, a nice voice, I had to admit.

"Irina Bogdashevskaya," again I emphasized the Russian. I've inherited some of my father's Slavic looks, I'm told I look Russian. My name probably sounded strange to his ears, but it would have matched the rest of me.

"What kind of name is that?" A question, not meant as hostile, an honest question.

"My father was Russian, and my mother Belgian. It's a good Russian name. Don't you ever get any Russian fishermen up here? My father was a fisherman, but quit when he married my mother.

Good, I may have piqued his curiosity.

"Not many," he admitted, "But what are you doing here? Scotland is at war, and that means you're not safe."

"I'm visiting with the Campbells. I came to study the barrow and the menhir. I plan on going home in the spring. I'm going to visit my mother in Belgium, then I'm going to Luxor where I have a house."

The look of concentration let me know that he was struggling to believe me. I have a house in Luxor, two hundred years in the future. My mother is dead, no, she hasn't even been born yet. Everything thing I'm saying is technically true. I'm probably his first encounter with an archaeologist, there hasn't been much done yet in the British Isles—everyone is interested in Greece, Rome, and Egypt. Champollion has not yet been born, so though I can read hieroglyphics, they've not officially been translated yet. I wonder if I could get credit?

"A lie is best hidden between two truths." In 2013 I work for the University of Chicago. Chicago does not yet exist. My little house in Luxor, built on the ruins of an old Roman house with the little fountain in back and the courtyard well shaded with trees, doesn't exist yet, either. I know several people in the archaeology community, none of whom have been born. I hold a doctorate, I bet none of these people have been to University, but it's the times. I have to convince Dougal I'm not worth bothering with, or at least he needs to think it over. I bet he's hungry and tired, and would like to bed down and rest for the night, then be on his way home.

"Please," I've faced angry tribesmen before, and I'm sure he's no less deadly, but he's a child of the Age of Reason and not a fanatic, "Look, I'm guessing you're Jacobites. I can sympathize with your cause, I can and I do. England fancies itself the next Rome. I don't believe that one country has the right to subjugate another. I have no interest in betraying you to my hosts, no reason to want to. All I want to do is go back, have a hot bath, my dinner, then go to bed. Please, just let me go. I'm not a Campbell asset, I'm just a visitor who's stumbled onto something I wasn't meant to see. Please, just let me go."

There's a lot going on behind Dougal's brown eyes. I don't think he's an unkind man, but the rebellion is business. If he thinks he can get something out of holding me for ransom, he will. He could just as easily decide that I have no value as a captive, and let me go.

"I'd like to believe you, lass, I truly would, but I canna be too careful. It's best if we take ye with us, and we can sort it out when we get home. If you have no value to the Campbells, then we can let you go."

"And how am I to get back? It's a long ride between the Campbell lands and McKensie territory. It's better if you just let me go—or are you going to be willing to provide me with money and an escort back?"

Dougal smiled, "We'll sort it out later. Maybe you're more valuable to the Campbells than you thought. Jamie, you take charge of her, make sure she doesn't try to run, I wouldna put it past this one."

Jamie took me by the arm and led me away. When we were out of earshot I whispered to him, "How am I going to get out of here?"

"I'm thinking," he answered, "In the meantime, just keep doing what you're doing. I dinna think he expected a captive to be as courteous as ye were. If you keep on being cooperative, then I can get ye away all the easier because they may not watch you so carefully. I don't think I can get ye away until the wee hours of the morning. By that time the guards will be tired and they may fall asleep. I'll steal a horse and take you back."

He led me to a deep pile of bracken close to the fire. Wrapping my fur lined cloak around me, I suddenly realized just how tired I was.

He sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. "Here, drink some of this," he handed me a flask and I took it gratefully. I took a good, long drink of the traditional Scottish whisky. Not as smooth as a modern distilled whisky, but it had a rich peaty taste that went down nicely. I took another, savoring the warmth.

He laughed as he took his flask back. "I forgot how much you like your whisky. Dougal would have been impressed."

"Or thought I was a drunk. Are you really on your way back home?"

"Aye," this was a last raid before winter set in. There'll be some who keep it up through the winter, but not Dougal. The men are tired, we're ready to settle in until the weather changes. The men with families will want to keep the Christmas feast, and New Year's. Then spring will come and it will be time to start raiding again. Say," he looked at me, "Are you married yet?"

"No, the day after Boxing Day. I wanted to get married while the festivities were going on. Lots of parties, celebrations. Georgie and I can greet the New Year as man and wife. I kind of liked the thought of that. If you can find a way to, you should come." We both laughed at the absurdity of that.

Someone had shot a fat young doe and they cooked it on a spit. Between the whisky and the food, I began to grow sleepy. Jamie put an arm around me and I rested against his broad shoulder. Oh, Jamie, I thought, if it weren't for Georgie, I'd be doing my damndest to seduce you. I wanted to kiss him very badly. There were plenty of places where we could hide for a few hours and no one need know. Except that I would know, and I'd not be able to face Georgie.

I don't know when I fell asleep, all I was aware of was Jamie putting his big hand over my mouth and whispering, "Come on." He led me down a hidden path to the avenue, where, tied to the juniper tree was a horse. He undid the reins, saying in a voice so quiet I could barely hear, "We need to walk until we're a bit further away, then we can ride. I'll take you to the chateau gates, and leave you. It should be a while before they know you are gone, and that should give us a good head start. There may even be a search party looking for you by that time."

We mounted up at the end of the avenue. Jamie took the horse at a walk, then gradually increased to a jog, then a slow easy gallop. I kept looking anxiously over my shoulder, but as no riders seemed to be coming, I let myself relax for a while, enjoying the feeling, as I always did, of being on horseback.

It looked like we were going to succeed. I watched as dawn rose, as the sun came up, but still no riders followed us. It was not so far to Chateau La Mere now. Jamie could drop me off at any time and I could walk the rest of the way. We'd done it. He could go back to the camp now and face the wrath of Dougal, and I would have to face Georgie.


	8. Paying the Piper

This is my erotic/fantasy and yes, spanking chapter. I've wanted to write this ever since I read the first book "Outlander". I wasn't quite satisfied with the way it went, hence my version. I had fun doing it, and oh, wicked me, decided to publish it. This is the first time I've every published something explicit. Kinda makes me want to write more of it. If you like it, please let me know.

We mounted up at the end of the avenue. Jamie took the horse at a walk, then gradually increased to a jog, then a slow easy gallop. I kept looking anxiously over my shoulder, but as no riders seemed to be coming, I let myself relax for a while, enjoying the feeling, as I always did, of being on horseback.

It looked like we were going to succeed. I watched as dawn rose, as the sun came up, but still no riders followed us. It was not so far to Chateau La Mere now. Jamie could drop me off at any time and I could walk the rest of the way. We'd done it. He could go back to the camp now and face the wrath of Dougal, and I would have to face Georgie.

I had given into over confidence. The sound was faint at first, but soon it was plain what I was hearing. Horses, horses galloping behind us. They had discovered we were gone before we expected them to. Now they were trying to catch us to us, reclaim their captive and take their vengeance on Jamie.

"Behind us, Jamie," I told him.

"Aye," he replied, "and before us, too." I looked up to see a group of horsemen riding from the chateau, Georgie and Colin at the head.

Damn, we'd ridden into a trap. Not an intentional one, I'm sure the MacKensies had not expected to run into the Campbells. He had no choice but to pull the horse up and wait. We looked at each other, resigned to our fate.

Georgie reached us first. "Irina, are you all right?" A look of both anger and fear was on his handsome face.

"I'm fine, this man was just bringing me back home. He helped me, do you understand?"

"Aye, so I do. Now you can get off that horse and mount up behind me."

"Fine." Bastard, I muttered to myself, but I obediently put my foot in the stirrup he offered me, and swung up behind him on his hunter.

"Jamie Fraser, is it?" Jamie nodded in acknowledgment, "Is it true what she says, you helped her escape."

"Aye," answered Jamie, "And I'll suffer for doing it."

"Then stay here with the loyal king's men, and you won't have to. We're the winning side, Fraser, you Jacobites are going to lose. You're outgunned and outnumbered. England will help make Scotland stable and prosperous. And I can have the bounty removed from your head, you'll no longer be a wanted man. You can go back to your farm and no longer have to live in fear."

"I've betrayed my clan enough as it is. I was glad to be able to help your lady, but now it's time for me to face the consequences of what I've done. I thank you for your generous offer, but I have to decline."

"You're a fool, Fraser, loyal to the wrong cause. I wish you luck then, you'll need it."

He turned his horse around to meet the MacKensies who had finally caught up to us. I saw him arguing furiously with Dougal, then they turned around and headed back down the road. He turned and waved to me, and I lifted my hand and waved back.

"Well, Irina, your rescuer was brave but stupid. I wonder if those Jacobites really know what they're getting into?"

"I don't think they'd believe it, even if you told them. They're dooming themselves and they won't even admit it."

He turned his horse around and we rode back to the chateau.

I didn't want to go upstairs with him, I didn't want to be anywhere near him. He had a strange, angry look on his face and I couldn't help remembering his words, "I'll turn you over my knee." I hadn't been spanked since I was a little girl and I intended to keep it that way.

I was not going to have a choice in the matter. He came up behind me and whispered, "You can go upstairs on your own, or I can drag you up there, it's your choice." I chose to go up the stairs on my own, but I could hear the ominous sound of his footsteps behind me. This was not going to go well.

He locked door behind him, and put the key carefully in his pocket. He looked at me not saying anything, then the words, "Take off your clothes," came out of his mouth.

"What?" I demanded, "What makes you think…" He took a step towards me, and I gave him a dirty look and started to undo my laces. He grabbed my arm and began to undo them himself. He unlaced and removed my bodice, took off my skirt and petticoats, and for a reason known only to him took off my shoes but left my stockings.

He kept his grip on my arm. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been? Scotland, the Highlands—it's a very dangerous place right now. They could have held you for ransom or worse. There's some chieftains that would have sold you, knowing that your blond hair would bring a fine price. Or they could have raped you—and even all of your fancy fighting tricks would have done you no good.

"But Jamie would have protected me, or at least tried," I thought. Dougal MacKensie had seemed like a gentleman. And I'd been on my best behavior, I'd done nothing to provoke my captors, on the contrary, I'd been very careful. And Jamie had come to my rescue, he'd gotten me away and I truly believed he would have gotten me safely back to Chateau La Mere, but I said nothing of this to Georgie.

"Now, what did I tell you about going off alone?" The young face suddenly did not look so young. If I had ever thought that I could rule him, I realized, by that look alone, I was sorely mistaken. Twenty he might be, his maturity stretched far beyond his twenty years.

"You didn't tell me anything," I said sullenly. Of course I remembered what he told me.

"So now you're going to become a liar, Irina? That doesn't flatter you. You know what I said and I meant it. I'm going to turn you over my knee and spank your bare bum-hard. If you're going to disobey me, you are going to pay the price."

Still maintaining his grip on my arm, he went over to the bed and sat on it. He pulled me unceremoniously over his knee, place a hand on my bum for the briefest moment, then raised it and brought it down, hard. I jerked, not wanting to, but the surprise of the pain made me start up. He began to smack me hard, made no pretense of being gentle, or sorry-this was meant to hurt.

I clenched my teeth and buried my face in the coverlet. I could keep myself from crying out, but I could not stop the tears pouring down my cheek. The hand knew how to make it hurt, knew places that were sensitive and sought them out. His hand found its way down my thighs, then moved back up to my bum again.

And it hurt. He didn't need a belt, or a paddle, or a strap, his hand was hard and merciless. I was squirming around on his lap, mortified at how it must look, trying in vain to escape, but it did me no good. All I could do was to lie there and submit, hating him for what he was doing, hating myself that I'd put myself in this position.

It seemed to go on for a good long time. His hands knew how to seek out places that were sensitive, and when his hands found them the pain increased. All I wanted now was for him to please please stop, but I wouldn't say it. I wouldn't bargain and I wouldn't beg.

At last, he did stop, but when I tried to get up he held me down. His hand lightly caressed all the places it had spanked, then slid up between my thighs, and made its way between my legs. His fingers began to tease me and my traitorous body was actually responding.

He laid me face down across the bed, then fumbled with his pants and pushed them down. When he pushed himself into me my body wanted him, desperately, even as I hated both him and myself for feeling the way I did. And I hated even more that I responded to his insistent lovemaking, instead of struggling or trying to escape him.

When he, when we, finished, he pulled me onto the bed and held me close. I tried to struggle away from him, but his strength always surprised me. I didn't give up though, and no matter how hard I tried to free myself, he overwhelmed me.

"Stop that," he said, "You knew what you were doing and look what happened. I told you not to leave here on your own, but you wouldn't listen. It's dangerous here, Irina, very dangerous, how hard are you going to make it for me to protect you? You're smart, and what's more, you possess a great deal of sense—so why did you do it?

I told him the truth, "Because I feel like an animal in a cage. I'm always surrounded by people and I crave solitude. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I watched as people came in and out, so I took my chance and made my escape. All I wanted was a few hours by myself, by myself, with no one around. I wanted to hear nothing but silence, and I almost had it."

He kissed the side of my head, "So you risked a spanking for a few hours of peace and quiet? I guess I should have taken that into account." He chuckled and pulled me close—I didn't resist, much. "You should tell me these things, let me know so I can fix it for you."

"I tried, but you didn't seem to be listening. You were paying more attention to family business than me. You keep assuming I'm like the other women here, and I'm not."

"No," he agreed, "You're not, but until we can work things out you need to learn to be patient. Otherwise, you're going to find yourself turned over my knee more often than you'd like, though I don't think I'd mind that at all. I'd rather enjoy it to speak the truth." He leaned over me so I could see his face—and the devilish smile that graced it.

"You better keep me restrained, or I'll hit or kick you, whichever is more convenient."

He laughed at the look on my face. "Oh, Irina, you want to hear me say there'll be no more spankings, but that's not the case. When you misbehave, you're going to wind up over my knee, and believe me, I'm hoping you misbehave often."

"Why the hell don't I hate you for this? It's the least of what you deserve, you know. I should shut you out of my bed until you apologize and agree to change your ways."

"It's not going to happen, my little Russian lassie. Just shut up, and let's sleep until dinner. You're so warm and inviting, I don't want to leave your bed."

I wasn't going to win this argument. Sometimes well fucked is as good as well loved. While he was raining blows down on my bum, I was swearing we were over for good. Now, if I was going to be honest with myself, I realized that I didn't want him gone, I wanted him as much as he wanted me. I survived a spanking, I could do it again. And there was that small, secret part of me that had wanted to submit to him—I just had to be careful to keep it in check.


	9. Yuletide

I don't understand why I have only 6 reviews for this story. In a way, it's a cheat, because the "Outlander" characters have outside roles, as opposed to central ones. Well, I don't like Claire-as far as I am concerned, she's an idiot. Jamie, I like, but I didn't want to pair him up with anyone who isn't Claire-maybe I'll change my mind. I just couldn't resist pairing a story of my own with a fan fiction story, like I did with my "Originals" story-someday I do intend to work on that some more. I don't know why "The Devil's God Daughter," my Dracula story got so much attention as I don't think it's my best writing. Of all the things that I've written, I believe that my "the Courting of Corky Corcoran", my Copper story, is actually the best and I encourage you to check it out. I don't think it got the attention it deserved, tho there are 20 reviews that have accumulated since I posted it in 2013.

Well, on with the show, as they say.

Autumn was fading into winter, and I began to wish I was back home. It was grey, wet, bleak, something out of "Wuthering Heights". I expected any moment to see Cathy's ghost peering into my window, looking for her lost Heathcliff.

Fires were lit in every fireplace in an attempt to warm the interior of Chateau La Mere. Mrs. Simms even burned an excessive number of candles in an attempt to fight back the winter gloom. At night, the fire and the candles lent the chateau a coziness that was missing during the day. The minute the early evening sun began to set, the candles were lit and seemed to dispel the gloom that pervaded the chateau during the day.

December heralded the arrival of Yuletide, and the chateau made ready to celebrate Christmas. The Campbells were no grim Presbyterians or Calvinists; but like their English allies, they were devout Anglicans and celebrated Christmas. Holly appeared from somewhere, and bouquets of yew berries were set about in vases. Banners were hung and ribbons twined around the staircase bannisters. It was nothing like Christmas at home, Christmas trees would not appear for a few centuries, but the efforts to cheer up the castle were not in vain. It began to take on an almost cheerful look, as if to spite the weather.

One morning I looked outside and saw that it had begun to snow. The Campbell lands were not as far north as the MacKensies, but they were far enough that the moon and sun seemed smaller than what I was used to. Georgie informed me that we would be getting snow, but a blizzard or severe storm was unlikely. It was pretty, though, pretty enough for a picture on a Christmas card.

Wedding preparations intermingled with Yuletide cheer. Supplies seemed to arrive on a daily basis. I didn't know what would be served for the Christmas feast, but a fat young ox was waiting to be slaughtered for the wedding dinner. Perhaps I should have felt guilty about my choice of my wedding date, but the chateau was so full of life, bustling with activity, and the general mood of the inhabitants seemed to be a joyful one. If only I could share it.

A week before my wedding I woke up feeling nauseous. I'd started to sit up, and became dizzy and sick to my stomach, then lay back down and closed my eyes until it passed. The next thing I remembered was Georgie shaking me awake, asking me if I was all right.

"I don't feel too good, I think I'll just sleep." I settled back onto the pillow, "Will you get me some water, please, I'm afraid I'll get sick if I try to stand up." I looked up at him to see him smiling, "What, why are you looking at me like that?"

He put his hand on my belly. "Now, are you going to tell me that you don't know what's wrong with you?" He was smiling so wide he was almost beaming, "Are you going to tell me that I know what's going on and you don't?"

Then, it hit me. The very thing I had been dreading, but was bringing Georgie so much joy.

"I'm pregnant," I said softly, trying to keep the dismay out of my voice.

"And to think you needed me to tell you, but you've never had a child, now have you?' He put his arms around me, held me tight. "I bet your maids know, you just haven't been paying attention."

"Well, I guess we're going to have our eight months' child." I smiled, trying not to betray how I felt. I didn't want a child, even if it was Georgie's child. I never wanted to be a mother. I had, up until now, the perfect life. No husband, no children, work that I loved. Now all of that was going away, all because of a twenty year old Scotsman whom I had fallen in love with, and oh yes, I was in love with him.

"I'll get you some tea and bannocks, that should settle your stomach." He pulled on his trousers and his shirt, then went over to the window and opened it. What he saw made him smile. "Come here, Irina, I have something to show you." He wrapped a quilt around me and led me to the window.

It was snowing, big fat flakes like duck feathers filled the air as they lazily drifted their way to earth. All of the ugliness of the Scottish winter was hidden under a blanket of white. I used to winter in Luxor to avoid the ugliness of winters in Chicago with the traffic jams and the pristine white snow turning to ugly grey. Here the air was pure and clean, and only the hoofprints of someone's horse marred the perfection of the white covering the landscape.

I turned to Georgie, "Can we go out and play as soon as my stomach settles down? It's been so long since I played in the snow."

He looked at me, a strange look on his face, as if I had said something that bothered him. It occurred to me then that someday I would have to reveal who I really was, where I had come from, for I did not want a marriage with secrets. And I didn't know how to do it. When he met me I was dressed in strange clothes, clothes that no one would have worn, for they belonged to a person who lived two hundred years in the future. But I was scared, scared to tell him. And it would be months before he could take me to Inverness so I could show him how I had come to this time and place.

His face relaxed, "If that's what you'd like, go out and get wet and cold when we could stay in here and be warm—of course. Come to think of it, it's been a few years since I've played in snow, myself." He kissed me, then left to fetch me some food.

I wanted to run away, but I couldn't. How could I leave someone so warm and loving? And handsome, I had to admit that. And now I was having his baby, our baby. A new life had started up inside me. I could not take that away from him, and I knew in my heart I could not desert my child.

Tears welled up inside me, and I started crying. I don't cry easily, but I was suddenly overwhelmed. Georgie came into the room and set down a tray with tea, bannocks, and boiled eggs. He came and sat beside me, and put his arms around me.

"What is it about women who're breeding that they cry at the drop of a hat?" he teased, "Whatever could be wrong with you, my Russian lassie?"

"Hormones," I sniffled into his shirt, "Hormones. Get ready for nine months of this. I'll be hormonal while I'm pregnant, then again after I have the baby. Nursing will help, only time will make it stop." I looked up at him, "I don't envy you, you know, having to put up with me. And I'm going to be hideously fat."

"Yes, and you'll look beautiful. Now, why don't you get a start on it and eat your breakfast? Mrs. Simms says that if you get lots of sleep and make sure you eat, it will help your morning sickness." He stood over me like a nursemaid while I ate, sharing the bannocks and tea with me.

The food made me tired, and we went back to bed. We made love, then he got up and got dressed. He kissed me, then I could hear his boots clattering down the stairs. Eventually I went back to sleep, and did not wake up until it was past lunch.

I sat up cautiously, checking to see if the nausea had gone. Instead I felt energized, and threw on my clothes and ran to the stables. I pulled my saddle and bridle from the tack room and saddled Birdie, I led her into the stable yard where six inches of snow had accumulated. She fussed at the feel of the snow around her fetlocks, but the snow was good for her legs, and I took off at a cautious gallop, heading for the road to the ruins.

It was not long after I left that I heard hoof beats behind me. I pulled Birdie up, and Georgie came trotting up on his hunter. "I see I'm going to have to use my sword belt on you the next time, you evidently have a short memory."

"Shut up," I told him, "I felt like riding, come with me."

We rode up the hill to the barrow. I had not been here since the MacKensies abducted me, and it felt odd to be there. The barrow had an odd, mystical feel covered in a white blanket, but the two stones seemed sinister standing side by side, their tops mounded with snow. I wanted very much to be away from there, and turned Birdie and headed down the avenue to the road. Georgie followed, a puzzled look on his face, but he said nothing.

That night I had a dream, no, a nightmare. The men of the household were going boar hunting. I saw them head off, carrying their boar spears, Colin and Georgie leading the way. I watched them as they rode, disappearing into a mist, obscured from my sight. I had a sinking feeling, a premonition. I wanted to run after Georgie, catch up with him, tell him that he was riding into danger, that he must not go hunting—but I was frozen, I could not move.

I watched and watched, waiting for them to return, knowing that some evil was taking place. And, I swear, I swear I saw a boar charging after Georgie, knocking him down, and Colin stood there doing nothing. And then the scene changed and the men were riding home, Colin at their head, and when he reached me he looked at me and said, "I'm sorry, Irina, I'm so sorry, but there was nothing I could do." And then it was I realized that Georgie had been killed—by him, if not directly by his hand.

I screamed, or I must have screamed, because the next thing I remember is Georgie shaking me awake, telling me I was having a nightmare. I looked at him and put my arms around him, holding him as tightly as I could. How could I tell him I had just had a premonition of his death, that he would never live to see his son born, and that his cousin, his best friend, was no true friend, but treacherous and meant to see him dead.

Christmas morning. The servants were in their best. They had all received, from Marsters in the stable to the lowliest scullery girl or boy, presents and small gifts of money. We had attended services, then sat down to a breakfast with ham, eggs, fruit, specially prepared pastries, small ale and large pots off a special Christmas tea. After breakfast we gathered into the main hall, suitably decorated for the occasion, and exchanged gifts.

I received a beautiful ruby necklace and earrings from Georgie that had once belonged to his mother. He fastened the necklace around my neck, telling how well it went with my red velvet gown. From his father I received a pillion saddle, the idea being that I would be safer riding with Georgie than on my own. I wondered how many people in the hall knew of my pregnancy—probably everyone I thought resentfully, for it seemed the servants could not restrain themselves from looking at my belly.

Colin gave me a beautiful black hunter. Of a calmer disposition than Birdie, he assured me, but just as fast, with smooth gaits. I had to look at him through a window, but he was beautiful, taller than Birdie, well built and sleek. I hugged Colin cautiously, letting him know that I loved his present, but pulling away from him as soon as I diplomatically could.

Lord and Lady Campbell presented me with several bolts of beautiful material. I didn't see the need for a large trousseau, but Lady Campbell had looked askance at the scarcity of my wardrobe. Some of this would be made into loose gowns as my pregnancy became advanced and I could no longer fit into my normal wardrobe. Most of these, however, would be made into dresses that would be fitting for the wife of the young laird.

At last, Georgie's uncle and father presented the boys with their gifts. Each of the boys received a set of very fine boar spears. The workmanship was very exquisite, having been ordered from Spain. In addition to a weapon, each was a work of art, the craftsmanship showing in every detail.

Georgie held up one for me to see. "Look Irina, it's beautiful," and as he did so, the details of the dream came back to me with vivid images, and I could see Georgie lying on a bier in the hall, and me left alone with Colin.

Suddenly, I couldn't breathe and everything went black.


	10. A Winter's Tale

Boxing Day. The day before my wedding, our wedding. It was early, still winter dark, when someone began pounding at the door.

"Jesus," muttered Georgie, pulling on his breeches, "who could that possibly be?" He pulled the quilt over my bare shoulders and opened the door, not pleased to be wakened. He looked at me, then stepped outside and shut the door.

I could only hear muffled conversation, and understood none of it. In a few hours we would get up, and start the Boxing Day celebration of waiting on the servants, who did most of their usual chores but members of the household would pretend to attend to their needs. It didn't mean anything, really, but it was a nice custom, which the Campbells entered into wholeheartedly.

These were good people. It was hard to associate them with the Campbells who had conducted the bloody massacre of the MacDonalds at Glen Coe. Decent people, down to earth people. The same people who had fussed over me after I'd fainted yesterday, and would have sent me to bed had I not insisted on remaining in the hall for the rest of the Christmas feast.

Just then Georgie came back into the room and began to get dressed. "Have to go, my darling," he leaned over and kissed me, "They've found tracks in the north, looks like someone is coming to pay us a visit." He cuddled up to me for a moment, kissed my cheek, "I'd rather stay in your bed, but I want no unpleasant surprises on our wedding day." He got up and began to build a fire, adding extra logs to assure it would burn for a long time before I needed to add more wood. I loved the little things like that he did for me.

I sat up, wrapping the covers around me to shield me from the cold. "Who could it be? Is it cattle raiders? What would anybody be doing out in weather like this? Better to stay inside and stay warm." I began to unwrap myself, inviting him to come back to bed.

He smiled at me, "Yes, dear, I'd like to come back to your bed, but I can't. Colin's waiting for me downstairs. It'll be light soon and we'll be able to have a good look at what's going on. The snow leaves excellent tracks; we'll be able to see what direction they've come from and where they're headed. I'll leave your clothes by the fire so they'll be warm when you get dressed." He came over, kissed me again, kissed me deeply, letting me know it was only with great reluctance that he was leaving. Then he left, leaving me alone in the room illuminated by warm firelight.

I thought about my white and silver wedding dress trimmed with white fur, about the new chambers that had been prepared for us that we would not see until we retired on our wedding night. I felt so confused, so out of touch. Georgie had filled a void in my life that I hadn't even known existed. I was expecting my first child; one I expected would certainly be followed by others. I had thought that I did not want children, but I was eager to meet this child, to see if he were like his father—I knew beyond doubt that this would be a son. How had this all happened?

I looked out the window—the snow was falling heavily and showed no signs of letting up. I suddenly was not in the mood for Boxing Day, I wanted to saddle Birdie and see if I could find these cattle raiders for myself. Who would be desperate enough to be out in this weather? It could be Frasers, or even McKensies, but would they be foolish enough to risk facing soldiers from His Majesty's Army who would surely be arriving today for the wedding?

I snuggled back under the covers, thinking. I wanted to know who these strangers were, but even I had enough sense not to try to follow them. The snow was falling thickly, would certainly show no signs of letting up, and maybe the tracks would be hidden soon. I got up and looked out the window. The snow was piling up rapidly; maybe Georgie and Colin would have to call off the search soon.

I wondered if they had a sleigh. I remembered a Christmas in Russia where the snow had fallen so heavily that they brought out the sleigh that had been in the family so long that no one remembered who had originally owned it. There were two horses whose sole purpose was to pull the sleigh in the snow for the delight of family and visitors. I remembered the bells on the harnesses of ours and other families' horses as we sped over the snow covered landscape. And later the gathering in one house where were we drank punch and nibbled on sweets until it was time to go back home.

I rang for my maids, feeling guilty about drawing them away from the festivities, so they could help me with my laces. My dress and petticoats were warm from the fire and I threw a heavy shawl over me for good measure. I had yet to develop the immunity for cold that Scots seemed to possess. Chicago was as cold and raw and Scotland, but I hadn't spent a winter there in many years.

I went downstairs to eat my breakfast—hot bannocks and boiled eggs, washed down with plenty of strong tea. I left the kippers alone; I still had no use for this Scottish delicacy. What I fervently wished for was whisky to wash it down.

The snow was piling up rapidly; at least two inches had fallen since Georgie had awakened me earlier. The flakes were not falling so thickly, but they were coming down steadily and the steel grey sky gave every indication that the snow would not be letting up any time soon. If I had any thoughts of riding I would have to forget them.

Guests were coming, some would be leaving after the party tonight but a few would stay for the wedding tomorrow. The lairds certainly loved to entertain, I'm sure the wedding tomorrow would culminate in a splendid party, one that would be discussed both in Edinburgh and in London. I hadn't realized how high ranking my hosts were. Officers from the garrison would be in attendance, in addition to some officials from London, who would no doubt be glad to see their journey's end, and reach the warmth of the chateau—and the generous cellar their hosts kept.

I was not pleased that Captain Randall would be attending. His insults were still fresh in my mind and I had not forgiven them. He no doubt remembered being flipped unceremoniously over my shoulder, my boot on his neck. Had he not attempted to assault me, nothing would have happened. Why he did so bothered me, especially to a guest in his host's house. And to accuse me of being a mere whore that Georgie and Colin had found. Was he trying to pick a fight, or had the goal been to intimidate me—for reasons only he knew.

That black aura of his disturbed me. My babushka had told me about auras, and warned me of the danger of the person whose aura surrounded them like a black shadow. I could not always see them, but Georgie's was there for me to see, a bright, glowing cheerful green. I could not see Colin's, I did not want to. Jack Randall's, however, was advertising dangers, but I did not know what I could do about it.

Georgie and Colin returned the efforts to discover the origins of the mysterious tracks, but their search had been in vain. Georgie went to his chambers to get dressed, informing me that he had been forbidden to spend the night before our wedding with me. We had to retire to our individual rooms to change our clothes, and both of us regretted the lost opportunity to make love before dinner, as well as not be able to spend the night before our wedding together.

Lady Campbell's maids dressed me in my red velvet gown, my hair braided down my back with red and gold ribbons. I refused to dress my hair in the current upswept style, there was simply too much of it, and I had no intention of cutting any off to accommodate the fashionable chignon or pompador. I hated to see Georgie in a powdered wig, but he was the laird's son and expected to keep up appearances. I, fortunately, was the eccentric bride he had chosen. I was Russian and therefore considered somewhat uncivilized and I took advantage of my situation.

The members of the garrison began to arrive, alone with their porters and baggage. The commander was quite taken with me, "My dear," he said, "With your golden hair and your pretty face, you will make the loveliest of brides." He kissed my hand and I found myself warming to him. Jack Randall bowed formally to me, but when he tried to meet my eyes, he found he could not. Good, I thought, you haven't forgotten. I'm more of a danger than you realized, Captain Randall, it's best if you remember it.

I went upstairs to my room and waited until the guests began to arrive. Suddenly I felt hands fastening my ruby necklace, lips gently brushing my neck. I turned, expecting Georgie, but Colin stood behind me, smiling.

"I wanted to tell you how lovely you looked, I couldn't resist the surprise. You were expecting my cousin, no doubt."

My hands shook as I picked up my earrings, and put them in my ears. "You should not have done that, that was more familiar than was proper."

He knelt next to me, "And what would you and Georgie care about proper? I'm sorry, it was meant as a joke, do, please forgive me?"

The smile on my face was as false as the apology I granted him. So Colin might be a danger after all. He tucked my hand under his arm and took me downstairs where Georgie awaited me.

"Here she is, as I promised," he handed me off to George and kissed me chastely on the forehead, it was all I could do to not wipe it away.

Georgie took my hand, "What's wrong with you?" he whispered, "You have a face like a thundercloud."

I shrugged, trying to act as if nothing were truly wrong, "I was just having trouble with my dress."

"You're lying, Irina, why won't you tell me what's wrong so I can make it right?"

Because you can't make this right, I thought, Colin has designs on me, and on the lairdship, I reckon. How am I supposed to tell you your childhood friend wants you dead?"

All through dinner Randall would not look at me. Are you afraid? I thought, well you should be. The rest of the company was very pleasant. The officers looked elegant in their blue dress coats. If I could forget my American history, let alone the history of any country the English occupied, I would have thought them very pleasant people indeed. Here I was, sitting and eating with redcoats and Scottish quislings, engaged to marry one of them, having a good time, as if I did not know anything that I had learned that should tell me otherwise.

After dinner there was dancing, and as I danced in the arms of the garrison commander, I had an idea. When the dance was finished, I led him over to a small sofa located in an alcove that was private and away from all the dancers. I took two glasses of champagne, and giving one to him I asked innocently, "Would you mind, awfully, if I asked you a question about someone in the garrison?"

"Of course not, my dear, I am hoping that you will ask about myself."

We both laughed at this. "Alas, no," I answered, with just the right touch of coquetry, "I am to be a married woman tomorrow, I am afraid I must deny myself that pleasure."

The champagne was warming him up, "Who did you wish to know about then?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, it's Captain Randall. He does seem to be an odd one. I am not afraid of him," which in truth I wasn't, "But there is something frightfully strange about him. He seems to relate well with the men of the garrison and my future family, but with the women he seems quite well, hostile. Like he is afraid to look a woman in the eye. Look at all the flirting going on in the room, all the dancing, but he just stands and looks angry. If a man were to come up and talk to him, that would be fine. He's polite, but terribly cold with me, and he gives me looks like he would gladly stick a knife down my throat for his own amusement."

"Well, he is a bit of an outsider. He comes from a good enough family and his uncle bought him his commission at a fairly young age. He's a good soldier, albeit a brutal one. I had to forbid his going to the brothels because he beat some of the girls up quite badly, and for no good reason I was told. I've heard about incidents of floggings that went beyond the parameters we set up for such things. It's one thing to rule by brutality, but altogether another if you incite your subjects to riot because of it."

He put his hand on mind, "In truth, my dear, I'm afraid that the only person who truly knows about Jack Randall is Randall himself. I can understand why he makes you nervous, but if you have any problems, ever, please come to me. The Campbells are our loyal allies, and we do not want to lose them. They are valuable to our campaign in Scotland, and we can always count on their cooperation." He kissed my hand. "I must get going. I will make sure that Randall behaves himself while he is here. I can guarantee that he will not bother you."

He knows more than he is telling me, I thought to myself as I watched him walk away. He knew what I was talking about without my having to tell him. I felt a little better, perhaps Randall had not singled me out because I was an unknown, he was simply treating me the way he would treat any woman, duchess or whore.


End file.
